Four Tragedies
by Layla Reyne
Summary: When criminal profiler Damon Salvatore is asked by his best friend to consult on a unique murder investigation with a certain literary twist, he finds himself working with Elena Gilbert, a woman with whom he shares a tragic past. Will this new case bring them back together or tear them apart forever? AU/AH; multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Four Tragedies**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N**: What's this?! Another new story?! Yep, the muse is pulling double duty these days. This story has actually been in the works for many months (long before The Left Coast plot bunny came along), and I'm so happy to finally share it with you.

_Special thanks to Pilar for her invaluable beta assistance (she's kind of a genius!) and to those who have listened to me ramble on about this story idea and who have read portions of it over the past few months, including Chelley, Kate, Jenn S., Yolanda and Remy. Your input is always much appreciated. Finally, a big round of applause to Nitsi for more amazing cover art!_

**Disclaimer: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. All due credit to the rightful holders.**

* * *

_**Chapter 1**_

Jonas Martin was a legend.

He was a legend for all of the well-regarded and oft-cited treatises he had written. For all of the shiny awards, plaques and medals that lined his office walls. For all of the successful and highly placed students that had crossed the threshold of his lecture hall. From the local mayor to Capitol Hill, Martin's scholarship, his sterling reputation and the resulting progeny were their very own institution.

Standing slouched and unconscious on a wooden platform, however, in a barn full of hay and softly neighing horses, a gag in his mouth and a thick rope noose around his neck, the man known as The King-Maker seemed anything but legendary.

Slowly he began to awaken, attempting to open his eyes, but they felt heavy, like they were weighed down, and his legs ached as if he'd just finished a day full of lectures.

And there was some sort of pressure around his neck that scratched at his skin like the rough wool of a cheap overcoat.

With his first conscious intake of air, the strong stench of hay and manure assaulted his senses, causing him to gag against the cotton that was between his teeth and depressing his tongue. The dense fog that had previously clouded his mind dissipated instantly.

In the dim light emanating from somewhere below, Martin's well-trained mind quickly assessed that he was in a barn, on a raised platform, above the stables and close to the rafters. Attempting to look down at his feet, his eyes grew wide with panic. His hands, which had previously been hanging limply at his sides, darted up to clutch at the thick, braided rope around his throat and to his horror, the more he tugged against it, the tighter it became. His fingers shifted to the gag that was strangling his cries for help, but it was too tight across his mouth to get a firm enough grip to pull it out. Martin fumbled for its knot behind his head, stilling when his hand brushed against the hang knot at the base of his neck, and he couldn't help turning his eyes skyward, following the rope up to where it disappeared into the rafters. His gaze caught on the much larger noose hanging a few mocking inches from his head—the symbol of his imminent mortality.

After wasting a few precious seconds contemplating his impending fate, Martin located the smaller knot at the back of his head and began to loosen the gag. Relief came as he took his first unencumbered breath, the oxygen filling his lungs and his heart with hope.

The sound that followed chilled his blood.

The first cackle was somewhat muted, like it was far away, before growing louder and increasingly hysterical. He was not alone and whomever it was that found his predicament so hilarious was drawing closer. Martin's fingers worked faster, panic making his palms wet, causing his fingers to slip on the knot.

_If he could just get the gag loose…_

With renewed resolve, his fingers worked intently, and his focus was rewarded when the gag slipped from around his mouth, fluttering silently as it disappeared into the abyss below him. Relief coursed through him.

_Now, for the knot at the base of his neck…_

Abruptly, the manic laughter stopped, replaced by a far more dreadful noise.

The swooshing sound of the trap doors opening beneath him was the last thing the legendary Jonas The King-Maker Martin heard before swinging to his death.

* * *

_Running._

_Down what seems to be an endless hallway. Away from the stench of roses. Away from the pleading, light green eyes that had __turned dark and furious. Away from his glittering, misplaced attempt at an apology wrapped in a velvet box. Away from the truths that had been so brutally revealed._

_Red. _

_The roses, his bloodshot eyes, the box, the hallway carpet, his car, her blood seeping from the gash on her leg and the cut above her eye. The blood on her hands that would never come off._

_Loud._

_His voice, soft and earnest at first, and then booming and full of rage. The vases, crashing against each other, falling to the floor, one hurled so violently against a full-length mirror that it shatters them both to bits. His car, with its engine revved to the max, tires squealing, radio blaring, the awful crunch of glass and metal as it smashes through the guardrail and hurtles over the edge. The other voice in her ear, screaming her name, telling her he's coming…_

_Begging her to hold on. _

"_Just hold on!"_

_Silence. _

_Nothing but the cold, murky water pressing against her limbs, filling her lungs, silencing her futile screams for help. Nothing but the darkness creeping in at the borders of her vision, threatening to plunge her into a never-ending sleep. Nothing but the blue of his eyes as he pounds against the car window, wordlessly pleading for her to stay with him. Nothing but his quiet tears when she asks, in a broken whisper, if he was able to save them both._

_Drowning._

_Before. _

_During._

_After._

_Always drowning…_

The ringing phone jolted Elena Gilbert from her nightmare, the abrupt wrench from dream to reality sending her careening into the bathroom to empty the meager contents of her stomach. She retched twice before being reduced to dry heaves and collapsing onto the floor, laying her cheek against the cold tiles and taking slow, measured breaths to settle her mind and her churning insides.

It had been the same nightmare, in one form or another, for the past ten years. Some were just transient emotions – coupled with brief flashes of memory – that merely left her feeling uneasy when she awoke. Others, like the one she'd just woken from, were a frame-by-frame replay of that tragic night in all its horrific glory.

They'd grown increasingly vivid with each passing day that brought her closer to Damon Salvatore's arrival. After the accident, guilt had consumed them both, unraveling that which had barely just begun between them and driving him clear across the country. He'd been out of sight for so long that she'd fooled herself into thinking he was out of her mind as well. That delusion was fast caving in on itself.

Elena's apprehension over his return had been manifesting itself in her nightmares for almost two weeks now, making her feel more like the walking dead than a functioning member of society. She'd been unable to sleep more than a few hours a night and keeping down anything solid had become a serious challenge. Several of her fellow faculty members were starting to notice and had begun expressing their concern. While she dreaded the inevitable confrontation with Damon, she was ready to get it over with if it would dispel some of this anxiety and allow her to get back into a normal routine.

Or at least what passed for a normal routine in her life.

Once her world had stopped spinning, she stood up from the floor and brushed her teeth, before staggering back to the bed. Collapsing in the middle of it, she burrowed herself beneath the covers, until her phone beeped, reminding her of the call she'd missed. She groaned, reaching out an arm and checking the Caller ID.

_Voicemail from Alaric Saltzman – Urgent._

Bringing it to her ear and pressing play, Elena was surprised by Ric's request that she meet him at the Whitmore Equestrian Center in an hour, because "her expertise was needed on a case." She wasn't sure how an English Lit professor such as herself could be of much assistance to a police investigation, but Ric was the Mystic Falls Police Chief, and perhaps more importantly, married to her Aunt Jenna. Refusing his request really wasn't an option. All hope of sleep lost, she texted him back, letting him know she'd be there, before reluctantly slinging her legs over the side of the bed and wearily heading back to the bathroom.

* * *

Damon Salvatore held his soaked t-shirt off of his skin and wiped the moisture from his brow. He'd been waiting for half an hour in the heavy, suffocating Virginia air, but he'd been dripping with sweat from the moment he'd stepped onto the tarmac at Lynchburg Regional Airport. After ten years in California, he was definitely not cut out for this shit anymore.

Discomfort turned to horror when he saw the Subaru Outback pull up to the curb in front of him. The glorified station wagon was definitely _not_ the car that he'd been expecting to pick him up at the Airport, and if it weren't for the driver, he would have been downright offended. He glared at his best friend as he exited the driver's side of the car.

"Where's my car?" Damon sniped as Alaric Saltzman grabbed his suitcase and pitched it into the rear of the vehicle.

Raising his middle finger, Alaric snapped back. "No 'hello'? No 'how's it going?' No 'good to see you, old friend?' You haven't been home in ten years, I haven't seen you in nearly two, and the first words out of your mouth are about your goddamn car. Newsflash, asshole, but it's not baby-seat compatible!"

Damon returned the salute, narrowing his eyes before replying. "Hello, Ric. How are you? It's fucking hot as hell here and this humidity's a bitch. And if you ever put a baby-seat in my Camaro, I will fucking disown you. That enough pleasantries for you, _old man_?"

"Dick," Ric answered, rolling his eyes but clearly fighting the smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

"And yet you keep asking me to be your rugrats' godfather," Damon deadpanned, trying to hold onto his put-upon expression, but it didn't last more than a few seconds. Despite the fact that his best friend lived three thousand miles away, they talked often and made the effort to see each other at least once a year – until this past one, when his job and Ric's wife Jenna's pregnancy had foiled their annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas for March Madness. "It's good to see you, man," he laughed, extending his hand to Ric and pulling him into a hug.

"I missed you too, buddy," Ric replied, giving him a few firm backslaps in return, before pulling away and heading back to his side of the car.

"Remind me why we couldn't do this christening in Boston like the last one?" Damon asked, sliding into the passenger seat and immediately turning every A/C vent directly at himself.

"I told you. We christened Lincoln in Boston with my family, so Jenna wanted to have Teddy christened here with hers." Ric paused for a moment, no doubt noticing the sudden grin on Damon's face. "What's so funny?"

"You named your kids after dead presidents," Damon chuckled. "Always makes me smile."

"You're an ass."

"I know," Damon smirked, happy to have settled back into their familiar banter and enjoying it even more now that it was live and in color.

Thirty minutes later, they came to a stop in front of a large red barn that was swarming with police officers and camera crews. Damon had spent the last half hour staring out of the car window, idly engaging Ric in conversation about sports and music while the vast green landscape of rural Virginia streaked by. Until the Outback's tires had hit gravel about a mile back, he hadn't even noticed that Ric had driven them past the exit for Downtown Mystic Falls and out to Whitmore's Equestrian Center. His mind had been elsewhere, on someone else.

_Always on someone else._

What was he going to say to her? Would she still hate him? Would she, could she, ever forgive him? Was coming back here the worst idea ever?

"Earth to Damon," Ric said, snapping him from his thoughts.

"This is not your house, Ric," Damon observed bemusedly, leaning forward to glance curiously out of the car window.

"Wow, Damon, gotta say your investigative prowess really is staggering," Ric retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes again as he reached between the seats to grab a file from the back. "Let's see what your FBI brain can make of this."

Damon took the offered file and clutched it to his chest. "A welcome home present. You shouldn't have."

"You're here for a week, Damon," Ric started, leveling him with a somber stare. "Without some sort of distraction, you'll wind up at the bar every night."

"What's wrong with that plan?" Damon shrugged. He was one hundred percent sure there was absolutely no way he was going to make it through this week without clocking in some serious hours at the Grill.

"Because you'll end up in the drunk tank at _my_ damn station," Ric huffed. "And then I'll have to drag your drunk ass home, and Jenna won't like that one bit."

"Whipped," Damon smirked, making a whipping motion with his hand.

"Just look at the goddamn file," Ric bit back, gracelessly climbing out of the car. "Besides," he continued, looking back through the open window, "It's a case I think you'll find interesting. I'm going to go see how the coroner's coming along inside."

As Ric strolled into the barn, and checked in with the other officers, Damon exited the car, muttering a curse at the muggy spring air before opening the file up on the hood of the car. He was flipping through the first few pages, acquainting himself with the case, when a familiar female voice called out from behind him.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal son, finally returning home."

"Andrea Star," Damon replied, quickly closing the case file and turning to smile appreciatively at the tall, leggy blonde heading his way. "You look good, and I'm guessing that camera crew over there means you won our little bet."

Her wide mouth hitched up into a suggestive smirk. "That I did, which means _you_ owe me a drink." Stopping directly in front of him, she gave him an obvious once over, before leaning in to whisper in his ear. "And its just Andie now."

"Got it, _Andie_." His eyes drifted to the cleavage on display beneath the plunging neckline of her blouse, lingering there until she hooked her manicured nail beneath his chin, lifting his eyes back to hers.

"So, you helping the Chief out with this case?"

"What case?" he countered, feigning ignorance. If there was one thing he'd learned from ten years in law enforcement, it was that no member of the press, regardless of beauty, could ever be trusted.

"The one in your hot little hands there," she answered, her fingers closing over his on the file folder.

"Hands off, Star," Ric shouted from where he stood with another officer near the entrance to the barn.

Immediately removing her hands, the reporter held them up before backing away. "Just saying hello to an old friend, Chief."

"Damon," Ric yelled at him this time. "If you're done fraternizing with the enemy, get your ass over here."

Damon held up a middle finger at his best friend, sneering when the gesture was returned. Turning back toward Andie, he wiggled his brows before replying. "Looks like I've been summoned. Duty calls."

"Let's catch up. The Grill, 7pm. I'll see you there," she told him with a wink over her shoulder, not bothering to wait for his response as she sauntered off.

Damon took a few moments to appreciate her departing backside before retrieving the case file and walking over to Ric and the other officer, recognizing him as one of his brother's former teammates, Tyler Lockwood.

"Agent Salvatore," Tyler addressed him.

"Please, Tyler, I can still remember you in diapers," he chuckled, giving him a firm handshake. "I think that qualifies us for first names. And besides, I'm only here because Ric's afraid to leave me alone with his wife."

Tyler looked between the two of them and raised a brow.

"The lovely Mrs. Saltzman likes to throw things at my head," Damon explained, pointing to a scar on his forehead just below his hairline.

"You deserved it," Ric asserted.

"Yeah, yeah," Damon said, waving at him dismissively. "Tell me something I didn't already know. So, what've you got?"

"Professor Jonas Martin," Tyler began, rattling off the crime scene details. "Distinguished member of the faculty here at Whitmore. Reported missing last night by his son. Found this morning by one of the riding instructors who'd come to open up the Center. It appears he was hung from the rafters."

Glancing into the barn, Damon saw the coroner and crime scene techs lifting the victim into a body bag. Even from this distance, he could tell that Martin's body was bloated, blue in the face, and that there were thick, red ligature marks around his neck, clearly caused by the noose that was still dangling from above.

"You're sure it wasn't a suicide?" Damon asked, turning back to Ric and Tyler.

"We're sure," Ric answered.

"How so? And how do you know this isn't an isolated incident?"

"Killer left us a calling card," Ric informed him.

"We found this tucked in the Professor's jacket," Tyler said, handing him an evidence bag.

Tucking the file under his arm and taking the offered bag, Damon peered at the small rectangular sheet of paper inside. It was a title page torn from a pocket-sized paperback edition of Shakespeare's King Lear, with "1 of 4" written and circled in red on the bottom right hand corner.

"Turn it over," Ric directed.

"'A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!'" Damon read aloud. His brow furrowed as he thought back on the play he hadn't read since college. "What does that even mean? I may have been an English major, but that was a long time ago and Shakespeare wasn't my specialty."

Just then he heard the distinctive purr of a Camaro.

_His_ Camaro.

So _that's _where his car was.

_Sonofabitch._

"I know," Ric said as Damon's eyes went hot. "That's why I called in an expert."

Betrayal coursed through him. Betrayal…and a healthy dose of fear.

Ric nodded toward the car driving up behind them, but Damon didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He'd already put two and two together, and he was silently cursing Rick as his heart lodged itself in his throat. He heard the car come to stop, a door slam, the sound of footsteps on gravel heading toward them.

_Sonofabitch._

He knew who the foremost Shakespeare expert was at Whitmore, just like he knew the sound of that car. He'd rebuilt it from scratch, brought it back to life, had been responsible for its telltale purr. He knew it better than any other sound in the world, except maybe one…

"Damon."

Her voice.

___Fuck_.

* * *

_Elena stood in front of the Church, shifting from one foot to the other in her uncomfortable high heels. She was more of a boots and converse kind-of-girl, only breaking out the dress shoes for special occasions. Special occasions like this. Smoothing down her wind-ruffled hair, she wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck before stuffing her cold hands back into her coat pockets._

_Stefan had gone back inside to visit with the many friends and townspeople who had gathered to pay their respects to his late father, while she'd volunteered to keep watch for his brother – a man she'd only ever seen in pictures around the Salvatore mansion. She didn't really mind waiting outside, despite the winter chill. The memory of her own parents' death a year ago was still too fresh, buried just beneath the surface, and funerals only served as a depressing reminder of all that she'd lost in the past year._

_Her friends, her studies, her life in Georgia. The two people who knew, accepted and loved her best. With their deaths, some indefinable spark within her had also been extinguished._

_Leaning against a nearby tree, and taking in the picturesque setting of Mystic Falls, she recognized that she had gained a lot as well. She hadn't known what to expect when she'd moved here with her brother. Per the terms of her parents' will, their Aunt Jenna, a grad student at Whitmore College, had been granted custody of her brother, Jeremy, who was still in high school. Since Elena had no intention of leaving him, she'd transferred to Whitmore herself. _

_She needn't have worried. "Cool Aunt Jenna" had proven to be a surprisingly capable guardian, making sure Jeremy went to class regularly and stayed out of trouble. Her fiancé, Ric, was a rising star on the local police force and a good role model for her brother. In the year since moving here, Jeremy had succeeded at Mystic Falls High - earning a spot on the varsity baseball team and - much to Elena's delight - had taken up drawing again, something she'd feared might have been lost along with their parents. _

_She'd settled back into college at Whitmore, resuming her English literature studies, along with her other required classes. That had been how she'd met Stefan. She'd needed a tutor for Biology – he'd been pre-med – and he'd needed help with his Shakespeare class – she had been doing her honors thesis on The Bard. As they'd worked together, he'd begun filling her in on various bits of town history, having spent his entire life in Mystic Falls. Most of his friends were fellow players on the school football team, The Whitmore Tigers, where Stefan was a wide receiver. They had graciously welcomed her into their inner circle. There'd been Caroline Forbes, head cheerleader and the Police Chief's daughter; her boyfriend, Tyler Lockwood, the Mayor's son and a fellow wide-out; Matt Donovan, all-around good guy and the quarterback; and Bonnie Bennett, a quiet, reserved girl who worked as a student trainer for the team. She'd even met Giuseppe Salvatore a few times before his passing, finding him intimidating but perfectly polite, exactly what she'd have expected from a successful attorney in Mystic Falls. _

_But for all she'd learned about Mystic Falls and Stefan's life there, his brother had remained a mystery. From what little she'd gleaned, Damon was brilliant, charming and had been a magnet for trouble when he was younger. He'd alternated between Mystic Falls High and various boarding schools, when he'd been suspended from the former. He'd faltered for a while before getting his act together and graduating at the top of his class from Whitmore in three years. This would be his last year of law school at Duke. Stefan made the two-hour trip down to Durham a couple of times a year to see him, but Damon never came home to visit. _

_Until now…_

_The baby blue Camaro came roaring around the corner, and while she'd never considered herself a classic car person before, she couldn't deny that the sound it made sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. The car came to a stop directly in front of her and the sun's reflection off of its gleaming grill momentarily blinded her. When she'd regained her sight by moving out of the direct path of the glare, she realized that the few pictures she'd seen hadn't done either one of them justice. _

_She caught her breath as the owner of the car stepped out from behind the wheel, his eyes the same striking blue as his car._

_Dressed in black from head-to-toe – black button up shirt and suit jacket, dark-washed jeans, and black leather boots –with his disheveled raven hair, five-o'clock shadow and clear blue eyes, he was the picture of sin and the devil on her shoulder was quick to sit up and take notice._

"_You must be the infamous Elena Gilbert," he said, his voice startlingly her back to herself. She hoped she hadn't been drooling. "My brother said you'd be out here waiting for me."_

"_Uh, yeah," she muttered, trying to find her words and offering him her hand._

"_I'm Damon." Taking her hand in his, he turned it over and lifted it to his lips, softly kissing the back of it. Warmth flooded through her at the surprisingly chivalrous gesture, and she knew the heat rushing to her cheeks, the slight tremor that ran through her body, and the way she was holding her breath, would not go unnoticed. _

"_Stefan's lucky to have a girlfriend as beautiful as you," he said, lowering her hand but keeping it loosely held in his. Her brow furrowed in confusion. _

What…?

_Her eyes widened as understanding dawned._

"_Oh! It's not like that between us," she replied with a shake of her head. "We're just friends."_

"_Is that so?" He smoothed his thumb across the back of her hand, and her eyes flickered down to where they were still joined. There was a spark there, the likes of which she hadn't felt since before her parents' death, and it caught her completely off-guard. When she looked back up, she realized that he'd stepped closer to her. _

"_That's not how he tells it," he continued, bringing his other hand up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear and trailing a finger lightly down her cheek. Her breath hitched, his teasing touch sending another rush of red to her face. He wrapped the dangling end of her scarf around his hand and used it to tug her even closer. _

"_You two should really get your stories straight," he whispered huskily into her ear before abruptly releasing his hold on her and stepping to the side. _

"_Hello, Stefan," he called out as he moved past her and toward his brother who had just exited the church and was now trudging down the steps. _

"_It's about time you showed up," Stefan greeted him with a tight smile. _

"_You know me, always late to the party," Damon replied as he pulled his brother into a half hug. Elena felt the air thicken with tension._

_Stefan leaned back. "Have you been drinking?"_

"_It's Dad's funeral," Damon shrugged. "Wouldn't want to disappoint him." _

_Damon squeezed Stefan's shoulder and then turned back to her, locking his eyes with her own again. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Elena," he said, giving her a parting wink before heading up the stone steps and into the Church. _

_He was instantly swarmed by townspeople welcoming him home, but it was Ric who cut to the front of the line and swallowed him up in a full-fledged hug. Elena shook her head, marveling at the genuine smiles on both their faces despite the circumstances of their reunion. She'd heard that Ric and Damon were friends – fraternity brothers, if she remembered correctly – but to her it looked as if those two men were more like real brothers than him and Stefan._

"_So, that's my brother for you," Stefan spoke up, interrupting her musings. He held his arm out to her, and she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow._

"_Not exactly what I expected," Elena answered, as they began walking toward the church. _

"_Yeah, well, Damon lives to defy expectations," he chuckled, before turning serious again. "Over the years, I've learned that it's best not to have any when it comes to him. That way you'll never be disappointed."_

"_I'll try to keep that in mind." _

* * *

**Drop me a note to let me know what you think so far and click favorite/alert if you'd like to stay updated on this story. This one is obviously for the more angst-inclined; check out The Left Coast if you need to balance it out with something a little lighter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Four Tragedies**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N:** My sincerest apologies for the delay in updating this story. I had no idea the muse would get so attached to TLC. But, we've reconciled and figured out how to time-share, so this story will get rolling again. In fact, Chapter 3 is one scene away from being done already. Should go to the beta this weekend!

_Many thanks to the "FT Team" for getting this chapter into shape - Pilar (Ladyhawke80) for her beta-magic and T (tamilnadu09), Chelley (chellethebelle), Jenn Jr. (jennifersimas) and Kate (ThisIsMyEscape) for their pre-reading input. Your time and advice is truly invaluable, ladies. Can't thank you enough! **AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENN!**_

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 2**_

The twitch of his fingers – the thumb of his left hand skirting against his middle finger, fidgeting with the ghost of a ring that was no longer there – was all the confirmation Elena needed. Damon Salvatore had returned to Mystic Falls, and he was standing right in front of her.

She'd known he was arriving today, but had thought that she'd have until Teddy's christening tomorrow to prepare herself for their reunion. When Ric had called that morning and asked her to meet him at Whitmore's Equestrian Center, her mind had switched off of the Damon-induced anxiety from her earlier nightmare, choosing instead to focus on how her expertise as an English Lit professor could possibly be of any use in a police investigation.

_And why were they meeting at the Equestrian Center? _

The uniformed officer who'd halted her car and brusquely asked for her ID at the Center's front gate had been Elena's first clue. The dozens of news vans – local and national – lining the gravel drive to the main barn had been her second. And when a crowd of reporters had dispersed, making way for her to drive through and park the Camaro between Ric's Outback and another patrol car, the yellow tape cordoning off the area had been her third.

_Crime scene._

That thought had just barely registered when Elena glanced toward the barn entrance and spotted the dark haired man standing in front of Ric.

She hadn't expected to see him _here_. At Teddy's christening, of course. The party afterwards, maybe.

But not _here._

Killing the engine, she sat motionless for a few moments, holding her breath and taking in the sight of him. His tousled, raven hair was damp with humidity on its ends, dripping sweat onto his neck and soaking the back collar of his t-shirt. Eyes drifting lower, she noticed the way the light gray cotton was stretched taut across thicker arms and a broader back than she remembered. His dark-washed jeans and black leather boots, however, were the same, as was the tense set of his shoulders.

_How could she forget? _

It was the last thing she'd seen as he'd walked down a jet way and out of her life ten years ago. That and the way his fingers had twitched. Just like they were doing now.

Quickly checking her appearance in the rearview mirror, Elena cursed at how hastily she'd put herself together before leaving her apartment. She should have used more concealer to disguise the bags under her eyes, should have run a brush through her hair more than once, should have found something else to wear besides yesterday's jeans, a wrinkled linen blouse and brown leather boots that were covered in mud. Usually she took more care, and the fact that she hadn't would clue both Ric and Damon into the fact that something was _off. _They'd know that it was more than just the shock of seeing Damon again after all of these years. They'd know, and they'd worry…and _shit_. Giving serious consideration to turning the key, slamming the car into reverse and peeling out of there, she glanced again at Ric just as he looked up and caught her eye through the windshield, effectively cutting off any chance of escape.

Her eyes narrowed with betrayal as he smiled half-heartedly and beckoned her over with a nod of his head.

What the hell had he been thinking, throwing her and Damon back together for the first time like this? Did he really think they wouldn't cause a scene just because they were in public? Did he not remember the last time? The two of them screaming at each other, shouting over the PA announcements in the boarding area for his flight to San Francisco, as curious travelers watched two people's lives – her life – unravel right before their eyes. How dare Ric put her in that situation again? She loved her Uncle dearly, but this was a bush league move that he'd hear about later.

Letting anger steel her resolve, Elena took a final shaky breath before shoving the heavy car door open with her booted foot. Stepping out, she slammed the door shut behind her and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she made her way purposefully toward the barn entrance where Ric, Damon and Tyler Lockwood were standing together.

"Damon," she said, grimacing at the way her voice cracked on his name. A name that she thought about every day but hadn't uttered aloud in years – always careful to refer to the man standing in front of her as "he" or "him" whenever conversation had required.

Even with his back still toward her, she saw Damon's shoulders hitch and heard his sharp intake of breath. He tilted his head slightly, stretching his neck, and she knew his jaw was clenched just as tightly as his fingers; one hand on the verge of popping a plastic bag he was holding while the other curled itself into a fist.

"Elena," Ric spoke up, breaking the awkward silence when it became clear that Damon was not going to respond. "Thanks for coming. I'm sorry if I woke you earlier."

"No, it's fine," she said, tearing her eyes away from Damon and meeting Ric's forced smile. "I have class in a few hours, so I was already on my way in today. Tyler," she greeted, nodding to the other man.

"Elena," he smiled politely, before excusing himself to assist the crime scene unit inside the barn.

"So," Elena said to Ric, taking a step closer so that she was standing next to Damon. "Your voicemail said you needed my help on a case."

Ric's focus shifted back to the man on her right. "Damon," he said, pointedly eyeing the puckered plastic bag in Damon's hand. "The evidence bag, if you please," he directed, nodding his head toward her.

Loosening his grip on the bag, Damon inhaled deeply before finally turning to face her, giving Elena her first glimpse of the clear blue eyes that had haunted her for the past ten years. His eyes swept over her face, lingering on her lips before meeting her eyes, the shadow behind that too familiar gaze confirming for her that Ric hadn't told Damon about this surprise meeting either.

They'd both been ambushed.

_Goddamn him._

Neither one of them wanting to be the first to break eye contact, Damon wordlessly passed her the bag, their fingers brushing against each other's in the process. Electricity shot up Elena's arm, and sucking in a startled breath, she snatched her hand away, just as Damon did the same, sending the bag, along with the file folder that had been wedged under Damon's arm, falling to the ground between them. Taking a step back, Damon scrubbed his hands over his face before turning away and plowing his fingers through his hair, while Elena bent down to help Ric pick up the scattered papers.

An awkward stillness fell over the air.

"Well, that went about as well as I expected," Ric muttered under his breath.

"What _exactly_ did you expect?" Damon snapped, rounding on him to tower over Ric's bent frame.

"_Honestly_," Ric replied, straightening and driving Damon back a step. "I had no _fucking_ _idea_ what to expect, but I wanted this out of the way _before_ the christening tomorrow. I will not have your unresolved history ruining my son's and my wife's special day. You got that?"

Elena watched the two men stare each other down for a good thirty seconds, before Damon shrugged, dropped his gaze, and took another step back, angrily kicking the gravel with his boot. "Yeah, I got it."

Turning, Ric leveled her with the same severe glare. "Fine," she agreed, holding out her hand. "There was something you wanted me to see."

"This," Ric said, giving her the plastic bag, "Was found on the victim."

It was a title page like a hundred others she'd seen in the paperback editions of King Lear that her students carried with them into her Shakespeare seminar. Only this slip of paper had "1 of 4" written and circled in red on the bottom right hand corner. Flipping it over, she read the writing on the back, the block letters perfectly uniform and also etched in red.

_A PLAGUE UPON YOU, MURDERERS, TRAITORS ALL!_

"Do you know what it means?" Ric asked.

"It's from the original text," Elena answered immediately, handing the bag back to him. "King Lear says it after he finds his daughter, Cordelia, murdered in -"

"In a barn," Damon finished for her, his eyes widening as they darted first to Ric's and then to hers. "She was hung in a barn," he said, putting it all together, and as soon as she nodded her confirmation, he rushed past Ric and into the barn.

Trailing Damon inside and following the direction of his gaze, Elena tipped her head back and gasped at the sight above them – a bloodied noose hanging from the rafters. And then she heard a loud metallic click behind her, the frame of a stretcher being raised and locked into place. She looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the sound, just as she heard Ric's shout.

"Elena, don't!"

_Too late. _

The face of the man lying in the unzipped body bag on the stretcher caused her stomach to roil mercilessly. Clasping a hand over her mouth, Elena ran outside of the barn and around the corner, away from the prying eyes of the reporters and other officers, before falling on all fours and retching violently. Attempting to catch her breath, she sat back on her knees and let her eyes slip shut, blocking out the blazing sun. Unbidden, the victim's blue bloated face and strangled neck appeared in her mind's eye, and she lurched forward again, heaving, as the acidic bile stung her throat and nostrils, wrenching from her body what little strength she'd mustered after crawling off the bathroom floor earlier that morning.

Just as her arms began to give way and she feared she'd collapse face first into her own mess of bile and vomit, strong arms encircled her shoulders and tugged her into a warm, familiar body. One that her own instantly recognized as comfort and safety.

One that she'd missed more than anything in the world.

"Shh, I've got you," Damon whispered into her ear, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. "Just breathe, Elena, just breathe," he said softly before nuzzling his nose in her hair and dropping a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Elena clutched his t-shirt with her fists and buried her face in his chest, inhaling deeply and letting Damon's scent, his presence, chase away the terrible image from her head.

_Another one to add to the nightmares._

Seconds later, Damon's arms tensed protectively, pulling her closer and tucking her head beneath his chin, as someone approached. She could feel a shadow fall over them, blocking out the sun's heat, and then Damon's embrace eased a little.

"What the hell, Ric?" he growled, and Elena exhaled a sigh of relief that it wasn't a reporter. God knew their pictures had been on the front page enough times as it was.

Relaxing her death grip on his t-shirt, Elena turned her face slightly, resting her cheek against Damon's chest and letting his heartbeat steady her. Cautiously, she cracked open an eye and saw Ric crouched beside them, anxiously watching her. "I'm so sorry, Elena. You weren't supposed to see that."

"S'okay," she whispered hoarsely, her lips dry and throat raw. "I was going to find out anyway."

Leaning back, Damon cupped her cheeks in his hands, lifting her face as his thumbs gently wiped away tears that she hadn't realized she'd shed. "Find out what?"

"The victim, Jonas Martin. He's Bonnie's father-in-law."

* * *

"You can't take your eyes off of her, can you?"

"Of course, I can't, Ric," Damon replied curtly. He was perched on top of a two-drawer metal file cabinet in his best friend's office, keeping a watchful eye on Elena through the internal window that looked out onto the police station bullpen. "She's the girl – the woman – that I loved, and I haven't seen her in over a decade."

"Loved?" Ric questioned, disbelief coloring his voice. "That certainly didn't look like past tense at the crime scene today. And neither does staring out of my bullpen window at her for the past three hours."

_Had it been three hours already? _

Having helped Elena to her feet outside the barn earlier, he'd placed a steadying arm around her shoulders that had also shielded her from the cameras. Surprisingly, she hadn't protested when he'd walked her over to the passenger side of the Camaro and gestured for the keys, before placing her gently inside. Jogging around the front of the car, he'd idly noted that the keys were still on his Duke Law key chain, just as Ric had caught up with him by the driver's side door. Ric had suggested taking Elena home, but when he'd told her that Bonnie and Luka were on their way into the station, she'd insisted on going there too, sending class and appointment cancellations from her phone during the drive.

Elena had said she needed to be there for Bonnie, who was one of her best friends now. And if the scowls the tiny woman with light brown skin, curly hair and dark green eyes had been shooting him were any indication, she was not a member of the Damon Salvatore fan club. So while Elena had sat vigil by Bonnie's side for the past three hours, he'd sat vigil by the bullpen window, unable to tear his eyes away from the woman he'd once loved.

Watching her with Bonnie, his gaze softened slightly as he acknowledged his feelings for Elena weren't exactly past tense.

Damon shrugged, conceding to the obvious, before reluctantly turning away from the window to face Ric. His best friend had taken a seat behind his desk, a folder open on his lap and his feet propped up on the corner of the desk.

"You didn't have to come back to the station with us."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Damon said, throwing his arms up in the air as he hopped down from the file cabinet and began pacing in front of Ric's desk. "She was clearly upset after seeing Martin's body, and by the looks of her, I'd venture a guess that she was only half conscious when she showed up there in the first place. Has she even been eating? She's skin and bones, and she looks dead tired. I certainly wasn't about to let her drive off alone and wrap herself, and my car, around a fucking tree. And while I'm on the subject, what the hell is she doing with my damn car, Ric?!"

"You can take that up with her," the other man answered, closing the file folder and tossing it carelessly on his desk. "I am not getting in the middle of that one."

Turning back to the bullpen window, Damon absently traced the nicks in the wood grain frame as his eyes settled on the familiar brunette. And yet she wasn't familiar at all. Gone was the playful smirk that had challenged him, had teased him, so often. Gone was the fire in her eyes that had burned him to his very core. Gone was the blushing young girl he'd met in front of the Church at his father's funeral that cold, winter afternoon. In her stead was a hollow shell of a woman with tired eyes and shoulders that seemed to sag under the weight of the world.

"What's going on with her?" he asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"It's not really my place to say."

Moving away from the window, Damon lowered himself into the guest chair on the other side of the desk. "Cut the crap, Ric. Just spill it."

Ric held his stare for a moment before bending down to retrieve something from one of his bottom desk drawers. When he reappeared with two glass tumblers and a bottle of bourbon, Damon couldn't help the wry grin that turned up one corner of his mouth. Pouring two fingers worth in each glass, Ric slid one across the desk to him.

"Jenna says she's been having nightmares again."

"You told me she went to see a therapist. That she had those under control."

"Maybe, at one point," he shrugged, "But who really knows with her. She's been so guarded, ever since..." Ric's words trailed off as he took a swig of his drink, but Damon knew what his friend had left unsaid. His conscience filled in the rest.

_Since the accident. _

_Since their world had been blown apart._

_Since he'd left. _

"In any event, they're back now, and with a vengeance. She's not sleeping much, barely eating. Jenna's getting worried."

"Fuck, this is my fault," Damon cursed, throwing back the rest of his drink before bolting from his chair and resuming his pacing. "This is all my fault."

"Stop it," Ric demanded sharply, causing Damon to pause in front of him. "This is Stefan's fault."

Damon's shoulders sagged as he stared down at the floor, hiding the shame he still felt over the weakest moment of his life. "I'm the one who left."

"You were never supposed to be here that long to begin with. In for the funeral and the wedding, finish up some research at Whitmore and then off to Quantico."

Shaking his head, Damon stepped back over to the window, his eyes following Elena's every move. "Doesn't change the fact that I was a selfish coward who left her when she needed me most."

"Well," Ric said, coming to stand beside him and firmly gripping his shoulder, "Then you're one lucky sonofabitch."

Damon furrowed his brow in confusion. 'Lucky' was not a term he'd use to describe his present situation. "How do you figure?"

"Because now you get a second chance to be there for her," Ric replied sincerely, giving him a slap on the back. "And I'm sorry about the ambush, but I was serious. Jenna's had a hard time after this pregnancy."

"Post-partum?"

"Yeah," Ric answered, moving back behind his desk. "Nothing too bad, but she needs a good day as much as Elena does. I just want this christening to go off without a hitch tomorrow."

"Damn," Damon said. "I was hoping to have a good buzz going by then."

"At the church?!" Ric cried indignantly.

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't going for the hard stuff. Just a few bottles of wine," he smirked. "Blood of Christ and all."

Ric glared at him. "You're incorrigible."

"I know," Damon grinned, waggling his eyebrows, before glancing out of the window again at Elena and Bonnie, focusing on the other woman this time as his brain wandered back to the case. "So, little Bonnie Bennett married the Martin heir… He's a doctor now, right?"

Ric nodded. "Luka moved back here to do his residency and then joined some non-profit medical group that provides care to the poor. He and Bonnie met on a Whitmore-sponsored Doctors Without Borders mission. They were married a few years ago."

"And his relationship with his dad?" Damon asked, retaking his seat across from Ric.

"Not good, by most accounts."

"His son became a doctor, for Christ's-sake!"

"But not the kind that Jonas wanted," Ric replied. "He wanted his son to get out of Mystic Falls, to follow a more profitable career track. But Bonnie encouraged Luka's non-profit work, and with her salary as a team doctor for the Tigers, they had plenty to live off of in Mystic Falls. Jonas was disappointed, to say the least."

"Sounds familiar," Damon grimaced, shades of his own father's meddling coming to mind. "Does Luka have an alibi for last night?" Noticing the incredulous look on Ric's face, Damon continued before he could respond. "You know as well as I do that we have to ask. Family members are suspects too, until proven otherwise."

"You're right," Ric conceded, holding out a file folder to him. "But yes, he does have an alibi."

Skimming over Luka's statement, Damon scoffed. "Bonnie is his alibi, how convenient." He closed the file and handed it back. "Do we have any ideas about the Shakespeare connection?"

"That's where I come in," said a voice from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Damon saw Elena standing in the office doorway. Her eyes glanced briefly at him before moving across the desk to Ric. "Your officers need Luka to escort them to Jonas's office, so I'm going to take Bonnie home. I'll talk with her some more and see if I can come up with anything."

"Are you okay to drive?" Damon asked, rising from his chair and walking over to her. "I can take you."

"I'll be fine," she said, avoiding his gaze as she held out her hand.

Pulling the car keys out of his pocket and placing them in her palm, Damon held her wrist with one hand and curled her fingers over the keys with the other, letting his hand rest on top of her fist. Elena's gaze snapped up to his, a spark flaring to life in her wide brown eyes.

"Be safe," he said, lightly stroking his thumb across her wrist. Slowly withdrawing her hand, Elena held his stare a moment longer before turning on her heel and gathering Bonnie from the bullpen. His eyes followed her out the door.

"Past tense, my ass," Ric muttered, earning a middle finger salute as Damon grabbed his wallet and phone off of the file cabinet. "Where are you going?"

"Well, if I can't get wasted tomorrow, then I'm going to go ahead and reacquaint myself with the Grill today. And I bet that I'm gonna need more than one drink in me to deal with Andie later this evening."

"Safe bet," Ric agreed. "But watch what you say around her. She's a real bulldog."

Damon rolled his eyes. "I've been doing this for a while now too, Ric. I think I can handle one little reporter."

"That's what you say now," Ric laughed, as Damon strolled out of the station, headed toward the only bar in town. After the day he'd had so far, liquid oblivion sounded pretty damn good.

* * *

Wide awake, and not yet ready to face the nightmares that she knew would arise the minute she closed her eyes, Elena was startled when the phone rang at half past midnight. Setting aside her tattered copy of King Lear, she reached for her phone on the coffee table, at a loss for who would be calling her at this late hour. Panicking slightly when Ric's name and picture flashed on the screen, questions raced through her mind. Was something wrong with Linc or Teddy? With Jenna? Why else would he be calling this late? Sliding her thumb across the screen to answer, she brought the phone to her ear.

"Ric, what's -"

"Is Damon with you?" he asked gruffly, cutting her off, and her anxiety ratcheted up another level. Granted, her ex hadn't been where her mind had jumped to first – it was out of practice in that department – but once it'd been reminded, the palpitations in her chest were no less severe than if Ric's call had been about one of their immediate family members.

Taking her silence as a 'no,' Ric carried on. "Damon left the station shortly after you and Bonnie, headed to the Grill. He was supposed to meet Andie Star there for drinks. It's past midnight, Elena, and he still isn't back yet."

"Did you think to call Andie?" she spat caustically, jealousy coursing through her as unwelcome images swirled in her head. The leggy blonde sitting on a pool table, her long limbs twined around Damon's waist and neck, his hands inching up her thighs, disappearing beneath her skirt, as their mouths attacked one another. Elena's stomach churned.

"Didn't have too," Ric answered. "She called me. Said Damon had blown her off and stumbled out of the bar with a bottle of Jack."

Elena breathed a sigh of relief. "Where was he headed?"

"He didn't tell her." Ric lowered his voice as a baby began crying in the background. "I swung by the bar, called the hospital, and even did a drive by past the Boarding House. No sign of him. I was hoping maybe he was with you."

"Ric, what's going on?" Elena heard her aunt ask, as she tried to quiet Teddy's wailing. "Who're you on the phone with at this hour?"

There was a rustling noise, and Elena suspected Ric was futilely trying to cover the speaker on his cell phone instead of just pressing mute. "It's Elena. We can't find Damon," she heard him tell his wife.

"What's new," Jenna grumbled, and then Ric was on the line again. "I hate to ask this," he started, but Elena was already tugging on her boots and pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail.

"It's fine, Ric," she said, grabbing her keys and stuffing her wallet in the back pocket of her jeans. "I have a few guesses where he might be."

She tried the high school first, as it was closest to her apartment, thinking that she might find him on the football field there. She knew that the Salvatore brothers had had a certain fondness for working out their issues while tossing around the pigskin. Next had been the lake at the old quarry. Damon had once told her it was his safe haven, where he'd go to wash the cuts and soothe the bruises that his father had been so fond of doling out. Nothing there either.

Driving the final few miles to the edge of town, Elena's heart was firmly lodged in her throat by the time she pulled into the parking lot of her third guess, the one she'd dreaded most.

Walking the familiar path through the Mystic Falls cemetery toward the Civil War-era crypts that lined the far edge of the graveyard, Elena remembered the first time Caroline had brought her here for an impromptu Halloween party. They'd gotten drunk on cheap tequila that night in the Forbes family crypt, but as her blond best friend was prone to do, she'd gone on and on about how each of the Town's founding families had one, including the Salvatores. Now, as Elena wound her way through rows and rows of gravestones with her eyes closed – the path all too familiar – she wished that that night with Caroline had been her only visit to this part of the cemetery.

She was ten feet away from the clearing in front of the Salvatore family's final resting place when she opened her eyes and saw him. Damon was sitting on the ground, slumped against the base of the stone steps with his legs stretched out in front of him. Chin resting against his chest and eyes closed, his hands hung loosely around the neck of an empty whiskey bottle.

Stilling and laying a hand against one of the spindly pine trees, Elena struggled to focus on the scaly bark beneath her fingers as tears welled in her eyes, wave after wave of emotion slamming into her.

_Relief_ that she had found him unharmed, though the tear tracks on his face hinted at cuts and bruises beneath the surface that had never fully healed, only festered until they'd driven him here, to where his mother, father and brother were buried.

_Sorrow_ that she'd discovered him in this dreadful place, because it seemed impossible for Damon to escape the ghosts of his past, even after a decade spent three thousand miles away.

_Anger_ that he was back in Mystic Falls at all, that Ric had asked him to return, that he'd left in the first place.

_Regret_ that she hadn't spoken up sooner, hadn't told Stefan the truth about her feelings, that neither she nor Damon had realized just how far from reality the younger Salvatore had slipped before he'd passed the point of no return.

_Fear_ that in light of everything that had transpired, Damon regretted loving her. That he didn't think it was worth the hell that had followed. That he'd left because he couldn't bear to be reminded of such love and loss any longer.

And above all else, a _desperate longing_ to run to him, to feel safe and content in his arms again, to return to the only other place that had felt like home after her parents' deaths. Despite all of her anxiety, anger and fear – despite everything that had happened between them – her heart still called for him, still loved him like its other half. He'd gotten under her skin, buried so deep that she couldn't shake him, no matter what.

Elena's mind flashed to earlier in the day, when Damon had cradled her body against his own behind that barn, and then her feet and heart were propelling her forward, need and desperation finally winning out. Three steps later a branch cracked loudly beneath her boot, and Damon's head snapped up.

"Who's there?" he called out quietly, leaning forward and peering in her direction.

"It's me, Damon," she replied, stepping into the clearing so that he could clearly see her.

"Be quiet!" he shushed, pressing a finger to his lips. "I'm hiding."

"From who?" she whispered, tiptoeing closer in deference to his obvious agitation.

"Andie," he hissed, nervously scanning the area around them, before slouching back against the stone steps. "Ric was right. She's a fucking bulldog."

Laughing softly, Elena lowered herself onto one of the steps above Damon.

"Drink," he offered, holding the bottle up to her while still staring ahead.

"It's empty, Damon."

"Hmm," he said, bringing the bottle right in front of his nose and swirling it a couple of times. "Guess it is," he shrugged, setting it back down between his legs and spinning it aimlessly.

"So, Andie gave you a hard time…" Elena prompted, wondering what exactly the reporter had said to set him off.

"The worst," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "'Damon, what can you tell me about the case?'" he mocked, affecting a throaty falsetto. "'Damon, who are the suspects? Damon, what are you thinking for motive?'"

"I figured you'd be used to that by now. Doesn't that come with the job?"

Drawing his knees up, Damon rested his elbows on top of them, cradling his head in his hands. "If only she'd stopped there, but no, she had to keep hounding. 'Why are you back? Why did you leave? Was it hard seeing Elena again today? Do you still think about your brother?'"

The mocking tone faded from his voice when he said her name, and the last repeated question was barely a whisper. His hands curled in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, and she saw his shoulders hitch as he struggled to control his ragged breathing.

Swallowing down her own pained sob, Elena reached out to him, silently laying a hand on his shoulder. Damon covered it with this own, grasping her fingers tightly and leaning his head against her forearm. "I think about him every fucking day, Elena."

"I know," she whispered, her watery voice cracking as she lost the battle, a pair of tears slipping down her cheeks. "Me too."

They sat like that for several long minutes, hardly connected yet clinging to each other's hands like a lifeline, until Damon shifted on the ground and looked up at her. Reaching out a hand, he brushed her tears away with the backs of his fingers and tucked a stray hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. Skimming the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, he traced the dark circles beneath her eyes that she hadn't bothered to cover up.

"Ric told me the nightmares are back."

"He had no right-" she started, a swell of anger causing her to bat his hand away, but Damon caught her hand in his own, squeezing it firmly.

"Not the point, Elena," he said, narrowing his eyes and pinning her with a serious stare as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her hand.

"They were never really gone," she admitted, before looking down at their entwined hands. "They've just gotten worse lately."

His thumb stilled. "Because of me. Because I was coming back."

Elena's eyes flickered up to his before she could stop them, silently confirming what he feared, what she'd already worked out for herself. In the next instant, Damon was up off the ground, wobbling for a moment before regaining his balance and pacing in front of her, the empty whiskey bottle dangling loosely from his fingers.

"Shit!" he cursed, raking his free hand through his hair. "This is all my fault."

Taking a deep breath, Elena rose from the step and moved in front of Damon, halting the swerving circuit he was making around the clearing. "He did this," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the crypt. "Not you, not me."

"But I _knew_ something was off," Damon replied, pointing an accusatory finger at himself before sidestepping around her and facing the crypt. "I knew the moment I saw him at the church that day. And then I found the pill bottles. I should have done more," he growled, suddenly hurling the bottle against the rusted iron doors.

Elena mentally and physically jumped, the sound of shattering glass bringing with it a myriad of horrific memories from that tragic night – broken vases, cracked mirrors, smashed windshields. It was a sound she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to hear again without a momentary flash of panic. And if Damon's blank stare and twitching fingers were any indication, he was reliving it too.

Approaching slowly, Elena cautiously laid one hand in the middle of his back and wrapped the other around his left hand, quieting its restless motion. He took a long shuddery breath before pulling their clasped hands up to his chest, and Elena – wanting, _needing_, to feel closer – allowed her other hand to drift across his back and skirt beneath his arm, hugging him from behind.

"You weren't the one behind the wheel that night, Damon," she said, nuzzling her cheek between his shoulder blades.

"But I chose to stay, Elena," he choked out, and she could feel the heavy rise and fall of his labored breathing. "I chose to kiss you that night in your room, to lie to my brother, to fall in love with his girl, and those choices killed him, and they nearly killed you."

"Damon-" she started, but then he was turning around in her arms, clutching their hands together between them, with a decade's worth of pain and regret brimming over in his eyes.

"Then I chose to leave. And I chose to come back now, and look at what it's doing to you. Can't you see, Elena? I make bad choices that hurt you."

Suddenly furious at Damon for always_, always,_ taking the blame upon himself and leaving none for anyone else – none for her – she pulled her hands out of his grip to gently, but forcefully, cup his face. Defiantly, she met his sorrowful gaze with the heat and conviction in her own.

"One, I kissed you back. And two, I should have been honest with your brother about my feelings for him. And for you. We _all_ made bad choices, Damon. Every single one of us," she replied, letting her eyes slip shut for a moment, fighting around the lump in her throat for the words she needed to say, the words Damon needed to hear. Letting the truth that she refused to bury any longer blaze from her eyes, she fixed him with all the confidence that she could summon. "But loving you was not one of them," she declared, even as she felt hot tears racing down her face.

Damon's eyes widened – hope and relief pushing back the sadness and brightening his too blue eyes. Keeping their gazes locked, he grasped her hands and brought them to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of each one, before releasing them and pulling her into his arms. Elena responded without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his waist, and as she felt him begin to relax, she allowed herself to do the same, burrowing more snugly into his chest.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, as one hand wove through her hair while the other trailed up and down her back, soothing the both of them. "I've done so many things to hurt you."

"It's okay," she sighed, hugging him tighter. "I forgive you."

"But I'm not sorry for loving you," Damon vowed, a conviction that matched her own coloring his voice and the kiss he firmly pressed against her temple.

Exhaling deeply, relief flooded Elena as she let go of her biggest fear, Damon's words having finally put to rest her doubts regarding his love. Her heart could beat again knowing that he hadn't regretted loving her. Turning her face into his chest, she breathed him in and smiled – a real smile – for the first time in ten long years.

Home didn't seem so far away anymore.

* * *

"_Knocking is still a thing, you know…"_

"_I need a shirt," Damon said, strolling into Stefan's room dressed only in a pair of jeans and his leather boots. Glancing around, he quickly surmised that his brother was still an insufferable packrat. The floor to ceiling bookcases lining two walls were chock full of books and leather-bound journals. Pushed against another wall, beneath the oval window, was a dark wood credenza, on top of which sat dozens of framed pictures – of their family, the football team, his friends, one of him and Elena at what looked like a Homecoming game. A turntable and their late mother's vinyl collection filled the shelves underneath. An acoustic guitar was propped on a stand in one corner, gathering dust, while another one was tossed in a leather chair across the room. The __heirloom desk that dominated the middle of Stefan's bedroom room was littered with textbooks, notepads and other loose papers. The inner neat freak in Damon twitched more than a little. _

"_Don't you have your own clothes?" Stefan asked from his seat behind the desk, putting down his pen, closing his journal and leaning back in his chair, absently twirling his family ring around the middle finger of his right hand._

"_Of course," Damon replied, rolling his eyes. "But I already wore the one collared shirt I brought with me to Dad's funeral. And I haven't had time to go buy anymore yet." _

"_So you're staying for a while then?" _

"_I'm the executor of Dad's estate, so I have to wrap that up," Damon answered, leaning his hip against the credenza and crossing his arms over his chest. "Figured I'd stick around until Ric and Jenna's wedding."_

_Cocking an eyebrow, Stefan eyed him suspiciously. "Don't you have to get back to Duke to finish up classes?"_

"_Just doing self-study at this point. I can finish that up at Whitmore. Then I'll be off to Quantico after graduation."_

"_No bar exam?"_

"_Nah, not right away, at least," Damon said, shaking his head and heading toward Stefan's closet. "Tired of studying," he groused, dramatically flinging open the closet doors._

"_Well, it'll be good to have you around," Stefan replied, and Damon could hear the smile creep into his voice. Circumstances notwithstanding, it was good to be back here with his brother. _

"_So, you got a hot date or something?" Stefan asked, changing gears._

"_In fact, I do," Damon said, as he rifled through his brother's wardrobe. "I'm picking Andrea Star up in an hour."_

"_No way!" Stefan chuckled. "I thought you couldn't stand her. Didn't she follow you around like a puppy dog all through high school?"_

"_Yeah, but I gotta say, she's emerged from her ugly duckling phase rather well," Damon smirked, as he pulled a dark gray shirt with a black embroidered pattern off of one of the hangers and shrugged it on. _

"_Too bad the same can't be said for you," his brother mocked from behind him, before a balled up bunch of paper came whizzing past Damon's ear. _

"Thank God_ you play football and not baseball," Damon quipped, bending over to pick up the paper ball, when he noticed something in a leather bin at the bottom of the closet that made his heart sink._

_Leaving the paper ball on the floor and picking up the leather bin instead, he stalked over to Stefan, shoving it in his face. "What are these, Stefan?"_

"_I don't know," he replied, glaring up at him with a rebellious scowl. "What do they look like?"_

"_They look like bottles full of anti-depressants that you're supposed to be taking," Damon said, dropping the bin on the desk with a loud thud._

"_The FBI will be _so _lucky to have you," Stefan sneered, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair again and slung his feet up on the desk._

"_Why haven't you been taking these?" Damon persisted, the sinking feeling in his heart descending to his stomach like a ton of bricks._

_His brother shrugged. "Dad said I was doing better, that I didn't need them anymore.__**"**_

"_Our father was an attorney," Damon snapped. "Not a fucking psychiatrist. And you don't look like you're doing better. You look like shit."_

"_I'm just tired from taking care of Dad is all," Stefan replied, and Damon's anger vanished, washed away by a familiar wave of guilt for leaving his brother home alone to deal with their dying father. Not that his presence would have been welcomed by Giuseppe or made things any easier, but still, he'd worried about Stefan having to carry that burden alone. He knew his anger was misdirected. That the person he was really furious at wasn't the young man in front of him but rather the old one they'd just put in the ground. An apology was on the tip of Damon's tongue when Stefan continued. "But otherwise, classes are going well, we won our bowl game, and I have a good group of friends. And Elena."_

_Flopping down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, Damon did his best to keep his voice calm, wanting Stefan to understand that his outburst, at least in so far as it was directed at him, came from a place of genuine concern. "You can't just quit these meds. Do I need to explain the side effects to you again?"_

"_God," Stefan huffed, "I wish you had never dated that psych student. What was her name?"_

"_Rose, and I did," Damon grumbled, spinning his own family ring around his left middle finger. "And, as a result, I have an inordinate amount of useless knowledge about anti-depressants and the suicidal tendencies that can occur if you go off of them cold turkey. So-" _

"_Enough!" Stefan retorted harshly, the sudden shift in his brother's demeanor, the hostility that flared in his eyes, and the critical tone of his voice reminding Damon all too much of their father. It worried Damon more than he cared to admit. "I know all of this, Damon! I've been scaling them back."_

"_Those pill bottles tell me otherwise," Damon replied, pushing the leather bin right under Stefan's nose while eyeing the half empty bottle of Scotch sitting on the bedside table. "And you shouldn't be mixing them with booze, either."_

"_Yes, Dad," Stefan sneered._

_Damon was out of his chair and leaning over the desk, his hands grasping Stefan's collar and bringing them nose to nose, before he even realized what he as doing. "Don't you ever call me that again!" he roared, anger eclipsing concern as he stared his brother down. He only loosened his grip when the doorbell rang downstairs a few seconds later._

"_That's probably Elena," Stefan grit out between clenched teeth. _

"_I'll get it," Damon said, shoving Stefan down into his desk chair. "You reek of Scotch. Get yourself cleaned up. I'll keep her entertained." _

_Damon was two steps shy of the doorway when Stefan called after him. Turning, he saw Stefan standing at his full height, arms crossed over his puffed out chest. "Hands off," he growled menacingly, his light green eyes turning dark with possessiveness. _

_Damon raised both of his eyebrows. "Elena told me it wasn't like that between you two."_

"_It will be soon," Stefan replied. "If I have anything to say about it."_

_Holding up his hands, Damon silently backed the rest of the way out of the room, turning down the hallway toward the stairs, apprehension for his brother's well-being weighing heavily on his mind. _

_And for the girl waiting on the other side of their front door. _

_Damon wondered how much, if anything, Elena knew about his brother's condition. Did she realize Stefan wanted to be more than just friends? Did she want that? Did she have any idea that the wrong answer to that question could be Stefan's undoing? _

_Damon's chest constricted painfully when he opened the front door and met Elena's smiling, innocent face. _

_The truth of the situation hit him like a bullet, and the brick that had settled in the pit of his stomach, hit the floor, dragging his heart along with it. _

_She had no fucking clue. About any of it._

_Damon was certain of that fact. And he was terrified. _

_For all of them. _

* * *

_**So, worth the wait? Hit review below and let me know what you think! Can't wait to hear some of your theories. Favorites and alerts are also most welcome. When you're done with that, check out a few more exciting WIPs from Chelley (Rock Hard, Love Harder), T (Out of Sight) and Kate (Four Lettered Lie), and share the love ;)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Four Tragedies**

**By: Layla Reyne**

**A/N:** I can't thank you all enough for your reviews, favorites and alerts on this story and _The Left Coast_. I am beyond grateful for your continued readership and support. Thanks are also in order to everyone who had eyes on and provided comments on this latest update – Pilar, Sandra, Chelley, T, Kate and Jenn. Much appreciated, ladies! Chelley (chellethebelle), T (tamilnadu09) and Kate (This Is My Escape) all have fantastic WIPs that you should check out, if you haven't done so already ;)

**Disclaimer**: The original story herein belongs to me. The characters and other things from The Vampire Diaries are not mine. All due credit to the rightful holders.

* * *

_**Chapter 3**_

Atticus Shane quietly eased open the well-oiled back door of his home and peered inside, checking for any signs of life in the darkened house. Holding up his wrist and pressing a button on the side of his watch, the illuminated face told him it was just past two in the morning. His wife's shift at the hospital wasn't over until five, so he should be in the clear. But still, he had to be careful, considering…

"Caitlin, baby, are you home?"

Hearing no response, Shane continued across the threshold, flipping on the overhead lights in the mudroom as he toed off his shoes. Tucking them into one of the bottom cubbyholes of the built-in wall organizer, he dropped his wallet and keys into the catchall drawer before pulling his phone out of his back jeans pocket. Opening up his contacts, he scrolled through until he found the fictional name he was looking for.

He tapped out a quick text message. _I need to see you again. Caitlin is working the night shift on Friday._ Hitting send, he hoped the extra touch of desperation he'd added would be enough to convince her.

He didn't have to wait long. _See you then, handsome, _came the reply less than a minute later. Smirking, his cock stiffened at the prospect of another few rounds like the ones tonight. Friday couldn't come soon enough. Deleting the incriminating messages, Shane slipped his phone back into his pocket before pulling his oxford shirt off over his head. He was just about to toss it in the laundry basket when the shimmer of pink lip-gloss on the collar caught his eye.

"Shit!" he cursed, attempting to rub it out with his thumb and only making it worse. Walking over to the utility sink, he turned on the hot water and added a squirt of detergent, holding the shirt collar under the faucet. After a few minutes of scrubbing, the damning stain was hardly noticeable, but his wife's well-trained eyes would surely see it. Spotting several mounds of dirty clothes already sorted on the floor next to the washer, Shane glanced at his watch again, quickly doing the math in his head. Determining that he had enough time to do a couple of loads before Caitlin got home – because only one might look suspicious, but a few would look like a good husbandly deed – he threw a load of towels into the machine, together with his shirt, added a heaping cup of detergent and set it to heavy duty before hitting the start button.

_Problem solved_, he thought to himself smugly, wiping his hands off on his jeans, before switching off the lights and leaving the mudroom, padding barefoot through the moonlit first floor of his house toward the stairs.

His foot had just landed on the second step when a loud click rang out behind him. Spinning, Shane's stomach lurched as he stared into the dark nothingness, his eyes and ears frantically searching the shadows for the source of the noise.

_Had Caitlin come home early? _

_Was he about to be busted? _

_Was there someone else in the house? _

Seconds later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when there was another loud click.

"Who's there?" he called out fearfully, cautiously taking a step back down, his fingers white-knuckling the banister.

His question was met with the sound of the washing machine filling with water, and the professor breathed a shaky sigh of relief, releasing his grip on the railing and chuckling at himself for getting so worked up over nothing more than the washer's safety lock engaging.

Shaking his head at his own silly paranoia, Shane climbed the hardwood stairs and walked down the hallway to the master bedroom, hitting the light switch by the door and bathing the room in low lamplight. Setting his phone on the bedside table, he shed his jeans and undershirt, tossing them onto the bed, before crossing the room to the attached bathroom in only his boxers. Switching on the vanity lights above the sink, he inspected his appearance in the mirror, looking for any scratches or hickeys – an unfortunate side effect of bedding young co-eds that got too carried away. Finding none, he was just about to turn off the lights when he noticed another smudge of pink lip-gloss under his chin. Reaching into the cabinet beneath the sink for a clean washcloth, he turned on the hot water and rested his forearms on the sink counter, waiting for the water to warm before wetting the rag and scrubbing his face and neck clean. When he was finished, Shane turned off the tap, wrung the excess water from the washcloth, and draped it over the faucet to dry, before looking up to inspect his reflection in the mirror again.

Only this time he wasn't alone.

"You do like them young, don't you Professor?" sneered the woman standing behind him, making a "tsk, tsk" sound with her tongue against her teeth.

Eyes growing wide, Shane struggled to find a voice for the questions swirling in his increasingly panicked mind.

_Where had she been hiding? _

_What was she doing here? _

Before he could get a word out, the woman rushed toward him, aiming a gloved fist at his neck, a silver needle glinting in the light. Whipping around, Shane raised his hands defensively, but he was too late. He felt the pin prick in his jugular a split second before he batted the needle away, sending it skating across the floor. Darting past him, the woman stood just outside the bathroom doorway, eying him menacingly. Shane moved to chase after her – one step, two – before his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees on the cold, tile floor.

The woman's laugh was a cold, hard cackle that sent chills down his spine. The professor had never been more terrified in his entire life. Following her into the bedroom on his hands and knees, Shane's fear multiplied ten-fold as he watched, through increasingly hazy eyes, the woman take several thick ropes out of a duffel bag and expertly tie one to each post of the bed.

"What're you going to do to me?" he rasped, collapsing onto his side as the world spun violently. His heart beat like a jack hammer, triple time, in his chest, but it did nothing to stir his immobile limbs. It was a struggle to even lift his head, to force his eyelids to stay open, so that he could stare up at the woman who, he realized with startling clarity, was going to end his life.

"Only what you deserve, Professor," she said, fluffing a pillow between her hands above him. "Only what you deserve."

* * *

"Damo! Damo! Damo!"

Groaning, Damon rolled onto his stomach and covered his pounding head with a pillow, futilely attempting to drown out the three-year-old's chants. Every fourth or so refrain was also followed by a loud thump against the closed guest bedroom door, leading Damon to suspect that the little tyke was either throwing himself at the door or jumping for the knob that was just out of his reach. He got his answer a few chants and thumps later when the lock finally disengaged and the door slammed open, banging against the wall behind it.

"Damo!" came the toddler's war cry a second before Lincoln hit the side of his bed at full speed with an "oomph". Peeking out from under his pillow, Damon chuckled at his godson, who'd failed to make the jump all the way up onto the bed. "Damo, help me!" he cried, his blue eyes pleading as his little hands clutched at the sheets, holding on for dear life, while his chubby legs swung in the air.

"Don't look at me, champ," Damon teased, turning on his side toward Lincoln and propping his head in one hand. "You got yourself into this mess."

"You suck," the mini-Ric pouted.

"Lincoln!" Jenna scolded from the doorway, leaning one hip against the wooden frame and shifting Teddy onto the other.

"But it's true," Lincoln whined. "Uncle Damo won't help me."

Rolling her eyes, Jenna walked into the room and grabbed the back of Lincoln's Iron Man pajama top, hoisting him up and dropping him squarely on Damon's bare chest with a smirk. "Just because it's true, doesn't mean we should use such language."

"Thanks," Damon scoffed, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Ass," she huffed, walking back out of the room and down the hallway.

"Nice example you're setting for my godsons there," he hollered after her, grimacing as his head protested.

"Mommy always calls you that, Uncle Damo," said the giggling munchkin on his chest.

"Oh, does she?" Damon replied, grabbing Lincoln by the waist and holding him aloft, swerving him about while making zooming noises. "If I were an ass, would I have brought you presents?"

Lincoln's eyes lit up. "What'd you bring me?"

Damon grinned, a plan to get his best friend's morning started right coming to mind. "I'm gonna make you a deal," he said, setting Lincoln back down on his chest.

"What's a _deal_?" the toddler asked, scrunching up his nose and forehead as he sounded out the new word.

"You know how your mommy makes you eat something green before she gives you dessert, that's a deal. You do what she wants, and you get something you want in return."

"What do I have to do for my present?" Lincoln asked, quickly catching on.

"I'm going to teach you to say something, and then you have to go tell your Dad. Can you do that?" Damon said, smiling when the boy nodded enthusiastically.

"Alright then, repeat after me… BoSox suck."

"That's a weird word, Damo," the toddler frowned, working hard to get it right.

"You can do it," Damon encouraged.

Several attempts later, Lincoln finally got it. "BoSox suck," he said, and Damon's grin widened. "Where's my present? We made a deal!"

Laughing, Damon lifted Lincoln off of his chest and put him down on the floor. "You drive a hard bargain, kid," he said, ruffling the boy's sandy-blond hair as he dragged himself out of bed and trudged over to his luggage. Moving clothes from one suitcase to the other, he uncovered the messenger bag full of gifts that he'd brought for his extended family. Finding the ones for Lincoln, he turned and crouched down to the toddler's level, holding out a tiny San Francisco Giants baseball cap and a stuffed Lou Seal, the Giants' gray seal mascot.

"Damo!" Lincoln squealed, grabbing his gifts before throwing his arms around Damon's neck. "Thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome, Linc," Damon replied, smiling as he hugged his godson. "Now, remember our deal, though."

Releasing the stranglehold on his neck, Lincoln stepped back, putting the cap on his head and clutching Lou tightly to his chest. "BoSox suck," he repeated.

"That's right," Damon nodded, straightening the cap on his head. "Now make sure your old man knows it," he smirked, sending Lincoln out of the room with a pat to his diaper-clad behind.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Lincoln shouted as he trotted down the upstairs hallway. Leaving his door slightly ajar, Damon stood behind it, waiting for his best friend's reaction. He heard a door open at the end of the hall and then Ric's sleepy voice. "What's up little man?"

"BoSox suck," Lincoln proclaimed loudly.

"Damon!"

Opening the door wider, Damon stood over the threshold, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. He could practically see the steam billowing out of Ric's ears.

"Did you teach him that?" his best friend barked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Damon shrugged, feigning innocence before letting a cheeky grin turn up one corner of his mouth. "But the kid's got a point."

Damon laughed out loud as he ducked back into his room, narrowly evading the stuffed seal that Ric hurled at his head. Shutting the door behind him, he headed for the shower, smiling as his godson's chants of "BoSox suck" echoed through the house.

Twenty minutes later, Damon strolled into the kitchen with his bag full of peace offerings.

"Please tell me that's not decaf," he grumbled, setting the bag down on the island and eyeing the trickling coffee maker.

"Decaf does not exist in this dojo," Jenna replied, looking over Teddy's head at him from where she stood next to the stove, heating up a nursing bottle in a pot of water. "What're those?"

"Gifts," Damon answered, as he moved around the familiar kitchen. Taking a mug down from the cabinet next to the sink, he leaned his hip against the wood countertop, waiting for Mr. Coffee to finish its business.

"Bribes, you mean," Jenna corrected, cocking an eyebrow.

"Po-ta-to, Po-tah-to," he shrugged, filling his mug and then pulling up a stool to the marble island, blowing at the steaming cup of caffeine to cool it to a drinkable temperature. "Guess I'll just take this sourdough bread and bottle of Dunn back to my room with me then," he said, reaching into the bag and taking out a round loaf of Boudin's best and the bottle of Cab that he knew was Jenna's favorite.

"Oh no you won't," she quickly countered, switching off the burner and removing the bottle with a pair of tongs. Damon contemplated running when he saw her put down the tongs and reach for the knife block. "I think you owe me that much," she said, brandishing a bread knife at him before sliding it across the island toward the loaf of bread. "Especially after you kept my husband and this one up half the night."

"Jenna, I'm sorry about that," Damon said, avoiding her judgmental gaze as he sliced off a hunk of bread from the loaf. Given what Ric had told him yesterday, he'd really hoped that he hadn't disturbed her too much last night, but apparently he'd failed at that too. "I just needed to work some stuff out."

"And Elena helped you with that?" she asked crossly, causing his eyes to snap up to hers. "I heard Ric on the phone and then I saw her drop you off. Around three, was it?"

Damon inwardly cringed. Had it really been that late when they'd finally made it back to the house? He couldn't say for how long he and Elena had stood in that clearing in front of his family's crypt, arms wrapped tightly around each other, her head tucked beneath his chin, her face pressed against his chest, just breathing together. He thought he'd been doing okay, managing to survive day to day over the past ten years, but that illusion had begun to crumble the minute he'd heard the roar of his Camaro and the sound of her voice. It'd come crashing the rest of the way down after Andie's badgering had reminded him of his very long list of bad decisions, leaving Elena being the worst of his transgression. She'd been miserable, that much was clear. What he hadn't realized was just how miserable he'd been too, how empty he'd felt, until he'd had her in his arms again.

She'd been the one to pull away first, stepping back and smiling tenderly up at him. Despite the dark circles under her eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks, Elena's eyes had seemed warmer, a touch brighter, and he'd felt an immeasurable weight lift from his chest. Interlacing their fingers, he'd followed her out of the cemetery and back to the car, sliding into the passenger seat without protest when she'd opened the door for him. He'd reached again for her hand as soon as they were back on the main road, enfolding it in both of his, before letting his eyes slip shut as the purr of his car, Elena's even breathing and the warmth of her skin lulled him to sleep. When they'd pulled up to the curb at Ric and Jenna's, she'd woken him – just like she used to – with the gentle touch of her fingers to his cheek. He'd sleepily nuzzled his face against the palm of her hand, kissing it lightly – same as he used to – before her fingers had given his cheek a stronger pat, rousing him the rest of the way out of his temporary slumber. Eyes locked, he'd brought her other hand to his lips, breathing a quiet thank you against the back of it. "You're welcome," she'd said, her cheeks flushed, before they'd said their goodbyes and he'd used his spare key to quietly let himself into his best friend's house.

Or so he'd thought.

"You can hear that damn car coming from a mile away, especially in the dead of night," Jenna said, giving him a reproachful look.

"It's not what you think."

"Honestly," she started around a mouthful of bread before pausing to chew, and Damon couldn't help but smirk when her eyes rolled back at the first taste of the sourdough. "Shut up," she snapped, stuffing the rest of it into her mouth.

"Sorry," he mumbled, hiding his grin as he cut off another slice for himself and waited for Jenna to continue.

"I never know what to think when it comes to you, Damon," she admitted, turning away for a moment to grab the bottle and shifting Teddy in her arms. Once she had the baby feeding, she looked back up at him with conflicted green eyes. "You're my husband's best friend, my kids' godfather, my nephew's surrogate brother, and they all love you to death, but you're also the guy that broke my niece's heart. It was fine when we did this with Linc in Boston and Elena couldn't make it, but you being back here, back in her life… I'm kind of in a jam here, buddy."

"I know," Damon said, somberly staring down into his coffee mug. "I'm sorry, for everything. More than you'll ever know."

He looked up again, surprised, when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "I know you are, Damon. Just _please_ don't hurt her again. I'm not sure any of us will survive it a second time."

Nodding, Damon laid a hand over hers, squeezing it lightly.

"Why's everyone sound so serious?" Ric asked from behind them.

Spinning on his stool, Damon saw his best friend strolling down the hall toward the kitchen, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, with Lincoln riding high on his shoulders. Covering, Damon held out his coffee mug with a grimace. "Your coffee sucks, dude."

"BoSox suck," Lincoln chimed in, laughing and grabbing tufts of his dad's hair.

"I'm okay with the word in that context," Jenna chuckled, holding out a fist for Damon to bump. He recalled that the Gilbert-Sommers clan were die-hard Braves fans, much to Ric's BoSox-loving-heart's discontent.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Ric replied, handing Lincoln off to Damon, before getting his own mug out of the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"I'm hilarious, aren't I, little man?" Damon said, playfully knuckling Lincoln's head before sending him off to the living room with a small piece of bread. Slicing a larger hunk, he held it out for Ric but Jenna intercepted it, shoving it into her mouth.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Ric scoffed good-naturedly, giving his wife and newest son a kiss on their respective foreheads. Damon was just beginning to unpack the rest of the "bribes" he'd brought with him, including several bags of Blue Bottle Coffee, when Ric's cell phone rang.

"It's the station. I'll be right back," he said, setting down his mug and walking out into the hallway.

Sensing Jenna's frustration, Damon shoved another piece of bread her way and scooted off of his stool, holding his arms out for Teddy. He was making funny noises at his new godson when Ric rejoined them a couple of minutes later.

"I'm sorry, babe, but it looks like we'll have to meet you at the church," he said contritely, giving Jenna an apologetic kiss on the cheek before glancing over at Damon. "There's been another murder."

* * *

Standing by the upstairs bedroom window, Elena's eyes shifted back and forth between the increasingly crowded street curb in front of the house and the evidence bag in her hands. Anything to distract her from looking back at the bed where her blond best friend, who also happened to be the town's medical examiner, was inspecting the victim. She and Caroline had been at Starbucks this morning, grabbing a bite to eat and catching up, when they'd both gotten a call from Ric summoning them here, and despite the fact that she had no love lost for this particular dead man, Elena really didn't want to risk revisiting her breakfast.

Truth be told, she didn't need to be here. Caroline, Ric or any other officer for that matter could have told her the identity of the victim over the phone, described how the body had been found, and read the clue to her, and she would have been able to piece it together on the spot. This one was a gimme. But then she wouldn't have been standing here, gazing out of the window at the raven-haired man climbing out of the passenger seat of Ric's Outback, wouldn't have seen the way his fingertips lovingly trailed across the hood of her – _his_ – Camaro as he walked past it, wouldn't have felt her heart race at the sound of his boots clamoring up the hardwood stairs. No, she wasn't here because of the dead man lying in the bed or because of her Uncle's request. She was here for one reason, and one reason alone – Damon.

"Give us the room, please," Ric directed from behind her, and the officers and crime scene techs scurried to heed their Chief's request. Hearing the bedroom door shut, Elena turned slowly, glancing briefly at Caroline, surprised that she was still in the room, before her gaze skipped over the bed and landed on Damon.

He looked tired, not unexpected given their late night, but unlike at the crime scene yesterday, when he'd been a live wire full of tension, right down to the very way he'd held himself, this morning he looked a degree or two lighter, more relaxed, and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he met her eyes. She understood the feeling. Last night's catharsis had eased some of her own anxieties, allowing her the first good – albeit _short – _night of sleep she'd had in months.

"Hey," Damon said, stepping toward her.

"Hey ba-" Elena started, moving in his direction. She'd made it exactly two steps before Caroline marched forward, angrily ripping off her latex gloves and inserting herself between them.

"Hey?!" the blonde snapped indignantly. "You keep her out half the night and the best you can come up with is 'hey'?"

"It's good to see you too, Barbie," Damon smirked.

Elena winced when Caroline's open palm connected with the side of Damon's face, the slap resounding loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

"I probably deserved that," Damon mumbled, flexing his jaw and holding a hand up to the red mark blooming on his cheek.

"You bet your ass you did," Caroline replied, crowding into Damon's personal space and stabbing his chest with an accusatory finger. "You wrecked my best friend's life."

And just like that, Elena could see the tension rushing back in. Damon's shoulders went rigid while the rest of him seemed to deflate, regret and remorse dulled his eyes and his left hand took up its familiar twitch. Unable to bear the sight any longer, Elena grabbed her best friend by the elbow, momentarily diverting her attack. "Caroline, just let it go," she beseeched.

"I will not," the other woman seethed, shrugging her off and turning back to Damon. "You left her when she needed you. You deserve a whole lot worse."

Casting his eyes at the floor, Damon nervously shifted on his feet and ran a shaky hand through his dark locks. "Believe me, I know."

"And just because Elena's forgiven you, doesn't mean I'm going to," Caroline carried on, but Damon's eyes had darted up to her brown ones, and upon seeing that glimmer of hope brighten his blues a little, Elena breathed a sigh of relief. All of the progress they'd made last night hadn't been lost. "You've got a steep hill to climb, _Salvatore_," Caroline continued, drawing his attention back to her with the emphasis on his surname and a two-handed shove to his chest, pushing him back a few steps. "One more fuck up, even a little one, and it'll be my fist next time. Understand?"

"Got it," Damon nodded, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Alright then," Ric finally spoke, "Now that you've said your piece, Caroline, can we get back to the case at hand, please?"

"Of course," she replied, putting away her best friend hat and donning her medical examiner one instead, yanking out another pair of gloves from her pocket before leading Ric over to the body.

Stepping next to Damon, Elena gently laid a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, rubbing his hand across his reddened cheek. "A little tired of Ric setting me up, though. And your best friend still scares the shit out of me. But don't tell her I said that."

"Some things never change," Elena mused, brushing his hand away so that she could inspect his face for herself, her fingertips smoothing over his cheek.

"No, they don't," he replied huskily, his eyes flashing hotly, and Elena could feel the flush creeping up her own neck.

"Guys," Ric called, breaking them out of their bubble. "There's a murder victim here."

Letting her hand fall from Damon's face, Elena took a deep breath, reigning in her desire and resolving her courage, willing her insides to behave, before turning to face the dead man she knew as Professor Atticus Shane. The killer had stripped him naked and tied each of his limbs to a separate bedpost, leaving him spread eagle and completely exposed. His wife had found him like that earlier this morning, after she'd returned home from her night shift at the hospital. There'd also been a pillow resting on his face, with their latest clue tacked on top of it.

It'd taken Caroline less than five minutes to deduce probable cause of death – suffocation – and Elena was ninety-nine percent certain that she was right. Taking the latest clue together with what she knew about the case and about Professor Shane, Elena's mind had instantly jumped to the same conclusion.

"It's Desdemona, from Othello," she said, as Ric and Damon took a closer look at the body, which had, thankfully, been covered with a sheet.

"You're sure?" Damon asked, turning his head to look back at her from beside the bed.

"Yep, pretty sure," she confirmed, walking to his side and handing him the evidence bag. Inside was a title page, much like the one from the first crime scene, except this one was from Othello, had "2 of 4" written on the bottom right hand corner and the quote on the back, again in red, uniform, block letters, read, _SO SWEET WAS NE'ER SO FATAL_.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Elena muttered caustically.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Desdemona is smothered by a pillow, accused of having committed adultery. Professor Shane there," she told him, tilting her head toward the victim, "Has had his fair share of extra-marital affairs, and clearly someone found out."

"How do _you_ know about it?" Ric asked.

"Bonnie," Caroline answered for her, the both of them frowning at the memory of their friend's short-lived dalliance with the professor.

"Wait," Damon said, holding up a hand and furrowing his brow. "The same Bonnie who's connected to our first victim?"

"Damon, you can't think that…" Elena started, but her words trailed off when she saw a similarly suspicious look on Ric's face.

"It's a hell of a coincidence, Elena," Ric said, glancing back down at the sheet-covered body.

"That's right, a _coincidence_," Caroline argued, defending their friend's honor. "That's all it is."

"Yeah, but we still have to bring her in," Ric replied, excusing himself to open the bedroom door again and step out into the hallway, making the necessary arrangements.

Taking the plastic evidence bag back from Damon, she turned it over in her own hands, nibbling at her bottom lip, deep in thought. "There might be something else."

"What's that?" Damon asked.

It was a theory she'd been considering in connection with Jonas's death and now, after finding Shane, killed in such a manner and with a clue that pointed to another Shakespearean tragedy, it was all starting to come together in her mind. And it could be an alternative explanation that didn't necessarily involve Bonnie.

"Jonas, that clue from his crime scene and the way he was killed pointed us to Cordelia's death in King Lear," Elena explained. "Cordelia was _falsely_ accused of treason, and Desdemona was _falsely_ accused of adultery."

"But you said that Shane was _actually_ guilty of adultery," Damon responded.

"Exactly. So what if Jonas was somehow _actually_ guilty of treason? And the numbers, each one says 'out of 4', so-"

"Shakespeare's Four Tragedies," Damon finished.

Nodding, Elena continued, reaching the final element of her theory. "What if the killer is avenging what he or she perceives as the wronged heroines from those plays?"

"Which means we have two more to go," Damon said, following her train of thought to its logical conclusion.

"But we still have to question Bonnie," Ric interrupted, having caught the tail end of their conversation as he re-entered the room. Elena shot him an angry glare over Damon's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Elena," he shrugged. "It's a good theory, and you might be on to something, but right now, we have to go where the evidence leads us, and that, unfortunately, is straight to Bonnie."

"Maybe she could give you some insight on what 'treason' Jonas committed," Elena offered.

"Maybe," Damon replied, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "And why don't you see what else you can find out on campus. Perhaps there's something academic related."

_Campus…_

Glancing at her watch, Elena cursed.

"You okay?" Damon asked, his hand tensing on her shoulder.

"I almost forgot, I have a lecture in a half hour," she grumbled.

"What's wrong, pouty?" he teased. "You'd rather spend the day playing detective with me?"

"Yes," she admitted, looking up at him through her eyelashes and blushing as her pout morphed into a grin.

"My god, you two are ridiculous," Caroline muttered, as she walked past them and out into the hallway, signaling for her team to remove the body.

"You really are afraid of her, aren't you?" Elena chuckled, as Damon quickly removed his hand and took a step back.

"Fuck yeah," he answered truthfully, before glancing over his shoulder, checking for the blonde's whereabouts.

"She's still out in the hallway," Elena whispered. "You're safe, for now."

"Whew," he mocked, smiling as he closed the distance between them and discretely took ahold of her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "I'll talk to Bonnie, see what treasonous things Martin might have done."

"Thanks," she sighed, holding his gaze a moment longer before letting go of his fingers with a parting squeeze. "I'll see you at the church," she said to Ric, giving him a pat on the back as she left the room on her way out of the house.

Cranking up the Camaro, Elena looked up at the bedroom window and was more than a little pleased to find Damon staring out at her. Giving him a small wave goodbye, he did the same and then disappeared from sight, no doubt turning back to the crime scene, just as her mind had begun to do the same. These murders didn't seem like something the gentle, soft-spoken woman who'd become one of her best friends could do. Bonnie wasn't a killer. But then again, history had proven her wrong before, brutally so. Steeling herself for the worst and hoping for the best, she pulled away from the curb and turned the Camaro toward town, saying a silent prayer that she was right, this time.

* * *

"I can't do this. I can't go in there," Damon muttered under his breath, loosening the silver tie around his neck as he paced back and forth in the church parking lot, working up a sweat in the late afternoon heat.

Leaning against the side of the Outback, Ric folded his arms over his chest, impatiently tapping his dress shoe against the asphalt. "Buzzed probably would have been better than this."

"Ya think?!" Damon scoffed, his eyes darting guiltily to his best friend and then over to Jenna. She was standing on the church steps with Teddy and Lincoln, chatting with the minister and anxiously glancing at them every couple of minutes.

"I don't understand why this is just hitting you now," Ric said, shaking his head.

Damon didn't have a good explanation either. He'd known this whole time where they were christening Teddy. Hell, there'd been multiple mentions of the church throughout the day and he hadn't flinched. He'd gotten dressed at the Station, slid into Ric's car and they'd talked fantasy baseball all the way over without the slightest hiccup. But when they'd pulled into the parking lot, Damon had felt the panic take hold – his chest constricting, his ears whooshing and his fingers twitching of their own accord.

"I guess I was so caught up worrying over Elena that I didn't even think about having to go in there again."

"Speaking of..." Ric said, looking over his shoulder as the Camaro rumbled around the corner and into the parking lot. "Maybe she can calm you down, since I'm clearly useless."

Turning away, Damon walked to the nearest church wall and laid his palms and forehead against the sun-warmed bricks, taking deep breaths and trying to pull himself together.

Hearing both the driver and passenger doors of the Camaro open, he realized that Elena wasn't alone, and seconds later the low timbre of her brother's voice reached his ears. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's having issues, with the church," Ric answered.

"Hey bro!" Jeremy shouted. "I'm not a fan of the Pope either but we all have to make sacrifices."

"You're still not funny, Jer," Damon replied, extending a hand and his middle finger behind him in the younger man's direction.

"Snap out of it, dude, or I'll reintroduce you to my fist," Jeremy snickered, and even Damon cracked a smile at the memory of Elena's little brother showing up on his doorstep in San Francisco five years ago with a six-pack of beer and a mean right hook. Punches had been thrown, alcohol consumed, and a truce had been made, enabling Jeremy to join him and Ric in Vegas the next year. Over time, Little Gilbert had become as much of a brother to him as Ric.

"Look, I have to get inside," Ric spoke up. "Can you wrangle him in? And where's your -"

"She's late, as usual," Elena cut him off. "And yeah, we'll be in there in a minute. You two go on in."

Seconds later, Elena appeared at Damon's side, pushing against his shoulder lightly to turn him away from the wall and toward her. She looked stunning, sunshine incarnate in a pale yellow summer dress, tan high heels, a light, natural touch of make-up brightening her skin and her hair swept up into a low bun at the back of her neck. But even Elena's beauty wasn't enough to loosen the vice grip that history had on his insides.

"You know," she smiled, her fingers fiddling with the end of his tie, "I think this is only the second time I've ever seen you in one of these."

"Because they're evil," he snarked, weakly lifting one corner of his mouth.

"Alright then," she said calmly, reaching up and slackening the knot enough to slip the offensive garment off over his head. Tucking it into her purse, she smoothed his collar back down before resting her hands on his chest and looking up at him. "One evil down. You wanna tell me about the rest?"

Taking a step back, Damon slouched against the church wall, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I didn't think, Elena."

"About?"

"Walking through those doors again," he said, warily eyeing the archway at the front of the church. "I thought seeing you would be the hardest part of coming back here, but I was wrong."

Nothing good had ever come from crossing that particular threshold. At the ripe old age of seven, Damon had followed his mother's casket up the wide center aisle, tears streaming down his face as he'd walked next to his father – carrying his little brother – past the rows of similarly tearful friends and family. At his father's funeral, there'd been pictures and remembrances of happier family times – before his mother's passing – and when they'd played the same haunting version of Amazing Grace that he'd first heard at his mother's funeral, a few tears had escaped.

Stefan's memorial, though, had been the worst. Having been asked to give the eulogy for his last remaining family member, Damon had stood speechless behind the podium, rendered mute by the war of emotions raging inside of him – anger at his brother for ignoring his and the doctors' warnings, and at his father for encouraging Stefan's non-compliance; guilt for leaving him with such a heavy burden, for not seeing the signs sooner, for falling in love with Elena; and relief that she had somehow, miraculously, made it out of that harrowing night alive. Glancing up from the podium, he'd met Elena's tear-filled eyes and had nearly broken, Ric's quick reaction and steadying arm being the only thing that had kept him from collapsing right there on the stage. He'd spent the rest of the service wrapped in Elena's arms, silently sobbing, as her own tears had dripped into his hair.

"That place is nothing but a symbol of death for me," he said, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and bending over, clutching at his churning stomach.

"But it doesn't have to be anymore," Elena said, firmly gripping his chin and pulling him back up before framing his face, and forcing his gaze to meet hers. "We're going to christen our godson in there today, Damon. It'll be a celebration of life, not death. And you'll swear to protect him, to make sure no harm comes to him, to help give him the life that he deserves."

Damon stared at Elena, wanting to believe all of those things. He wanted to _do_ all of those things, wanted to _be_ all those things for his godson, for Elena, for the extended family that had somehow accepted him, bumps and all, but thirty years of death and destruction seemed like insurmountable odds. "I can't, Elena. It's too-"

The rest of his words died on her lips, as they pressed firmly against his own, chasing back the demons of his past. Surprised, he hesitated for a second before pulling her into his body and kissing her back, welcoming the comfort she offered. Her breath skirting between his lips blew new life into him, filling him up with hope for the future she spoke so vividly of. Her hands threading through his hair sent energy coursing through his veins, jumpstarting a heart that had been running on empty for far too long. And when she pulled away a few seconds later, keeping their kiss chaste but passionate nonetheless, her wide brown eyes flickered open and shone up at him with an emotion he thought he'd never see the likes of again.

"That's my trick," he smirked, the warmth of their intimate embrace easing his tension.

"But it worked didn't it," Elena replied, smiling softly, as her hands smoothed down his disheveled hair, straightening his collar and righting his suit jacket on his shoulders. "This can be a new beginning, Damon. For all of us."

"I'd like that," he breathed, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and letting his hand linger against her cheek.

"Okay, then," she said, taking his hand in hers and turning toward the church, tugging him along behind her. "Let's go christen our godson."

* * *

"_So, you want to tell me what's more important than my homemade lasagna?"_

_Eyes flickering up from her laptop, Elena's gaze fell on the smirking man standing in her bedroom doorway before zeroing in on the steaming hunk of meat, cheese and pasta on the plate in his hand._

"_You think awfully highly of your cooking skills," she replied, rolling her eyes, even as her mouth watered. _

"_Because they're damn fine. And by the way you can't take your eyes off of this plate," he said, stepping into her room and temptingly waving the food in front of her nose, "I'd say you agree."_

"_You're an ass," she huffed, clearing a space to set her laptop aside among the books and papers scattered around her on the floor._

"_I know," he grinned smugly, waggling his brows. "But I'm an ass that can cook."_

"_Just shut up and give me the goddamn food, Damon," she replied, purposefully going for bitchy but unable to keep the pleading tone out of her voice._

"_Why should I?" he teased, kicking aside some papers and settling down on the floor next to her. Leaning back against the bed, he kept the plate of pasta in his far hand, holding it out of her swinging reach._

_Elena leveled him with a determined glare. "If you don't give me that plate right this minute Damon Francesco Salvatore, I'll tell the bartender at the wedding reception that you're on medication and not allowed to drink."_

"_Ooh, breaking out the full name. Someone's feisty," he smirked. "I like it. And I'm not on any such medications." _

"_The bartender doesn't know that," she countered, narrowing her eyes and holding out an expectant hand. "So how about that lasagna now?"_

"_You play dirty, Gilbert," he replied with a hint of admiration, before finally handing over her dinner and pulling a fork out of his pocket for her. _

_Shoving a large bite into her mouth, she tried her damnedest not to let on how delicious it was – because god knew his ego didn't need anymore puffing – but as the seasoned meat, his homemade tomato sauce and the mix of aged Italian cheeses melted in her mouth, she couldn't help the purr that rumbled in the back of her throat._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Damon shift his legs, crossing one over the other, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, but she didn't think too long on it, her attention singularly focused on the food in front of her. While Jenna was no slouch in the kitchen, Elena had to admit that having Damon around this past month had certainly spoiled her taste buds. _

_Deciding to stay in town after his father's funeral, Damon had practically become a fixture at their house – in the kitchen cooking with Jenna, in front of the TV playing video games with Jeremy, in the driveway shooting hoops with Ric. Having missed dinner the last three nights, holed up here in her room, Damon had undoubtedly noticed her absence and broken out the big guns – his mother's lasagna that she'd remarked in passing was her favorite – thinking it'd lure her out. And while there was nothing more she would like to do than spend a couple of hours with her family, eating and laughing, she just didn't have the time._

"_So what is all this?" Damon asked, as he straightened the stacks of papers and books around them. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed his neat freak tendencies, having come home from a dress fitting with Jenna one afternoon to find him reorganizing Ric's liquor cabinet._

"_My honors thesis," she answered between bites._

"_Shakespeare, right?" _

_Elena cocked an eyebrow, not recalling an instance when she'd told him the topic of her research. He continued before she could swallow and ask him how he'd come by that nugget of information. "Jenna told me. Who's your advisor?"_

"_Galligan."_

"_Ugh, I avoided him like the plague," Damon grimaced. "Nothing to do with him personally. Seemed nice enough at the departmental events."_

"_You were an English major too?" she asked, scraping the last bits of melted cheese from the plate and licking them off the tongs of the fork._

"_Yeah," he coughed awkwardly, his eyes glued to her lips, before averting his gaze and clearing his throat. "I was never really a fan of Brit lit. Stuck with the American classics."_

"_God," Elena groaned, setting aside her plate and turning back to face him. "Grapes of Wrath has to be my least favorite book ever."_

"_How can you not like Steinbeck?" Damon replied with mock horror, shifting slightly to pull a silver flask out of his back pocket. He took a quick swig before holding it out to her with a shake._

_Accepting the proffered drink, she took a long draught of the expensive aged bourbon Damon always seemed to carry on him, letting it burn down her throat and warm her insides before she spoke. "The man dedicated an entire chapter to a fucking turtle crossing the road."_

"_And how many chapters did James Joyce spend aimlessly rambling?"_

"_Touché," she replied, handing the flask back to Damon and jumping slightly when their fingers brushed against each other's, that same spark she'd felt in front of the church when they'd first met jolting her once again. Their gazes locked, and she saw heat flash across his clear blue eyes, darkening them a shade or two, before he turned away, picking up a stack of papers. _

"_So, theses aren't usually due until May. It's the last week of March."_

"_Galligan wants a first draft on Monday," she replied, following his lead and ignoring the intense exchange that had just silently passed between them. It had become an increasingly familiar routine of theirs. There'd been other glances, other touches, that they'd both __ignored because he was dating Andie Star and she'd been out on a couple of dates with Stefan. Elena felt that she owed it to her friend to see if there might be more there, that she should give him the chance. But as much as she wanted to want Stefan, he never raised the same kind of heat in her as the Salvatore sitting next to her._

"_So that gives you what, five days?" Damon said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "How much do you have?" _

"_Ten pages," she answered glumly._

"_You're screwed," he chuckled, jostling her shoulder._

"_Tell me something I don't already know," she replied, hanging her chin against her chest and kicking over a stack of books he'd rearranged, chuckling a little to __herself when he twitched at the perceived injustice._

"_What do you need me to do?" he asked, surprising her with the offer._

"_Honestly, I need all of this pre-wedding shit to disappear for a few days. It's sucking up every spare minute of my time."_

"_Done," he answered, as if she'd asked for the simplest thing in the world. Her head snapped up, looking at him disbelievingly. _

"_How?"_

"_Don't ask questions," he winked. "What else?"_

"_I'm going to need someone to edit," she said, biting her bottom lip with her teeth as she cast her eyes down. Damon was by far the most qualified, but after he'd just finished telling her that he didn't really care for her topic of study, she felt awkward directly asking him to proof her work. "I'd ask Stefan but he's gone all week on med school interviews, Jeremy's leaving for a basketball tourney, and Jenna and Ric have to deal with wedding stuff. And none of them really have the background."_

"_I'll do it," he said, the sincerity in his voice causing her to glance back up and meet his eyes._

"_Damon, you don't have to-"_

"_Elena," he said softly, slipping a hand into hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me help you."_

"_Okay," she agreed, relieved that she had a compatriot in the daunting task she was embarking upon._

_True to his word, he'd made the wedding shit disappear, just like he'd promised. That Friday afternoon, Jenna had arrived home from work and told her that the hotel on the coast where she and Ric were taking their honeymoon had called to offer them a free preview weekend. Ric had insisted on taking them up on the offer – Damon's offer in disguise, Elena knew – because the both of them needed a break if they were actually going to make it down the aisle without killing each other first. _

_Ric and Jenna hadn't been out the door ten minutes before Elena heard the roar of Damon's Camaro pulling up to the curb in front of the house. Closing her laptop, she ran down the stairs, swinging open the door to find him standing on the porch, one hand poised to knock and the other holding a duffle bag._

"_What's that for?" she asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously._

"_Well, if I'm going to stay holed up in this house with you all weekend, I need clean clothes, better coffee than that swill you people drink, and a good bottle of bourbon, because Ric's stock is shit."_

_Elena didn't think, she just leapt, throwing her arms around Damon's neck and hugging him fiercely. She heard the bag hit the floor and then his arms wound around her back, pulling her tightly against him._

"_Thank you," she said. "For everything."_

"_You're welcome," he whispered into her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine and making her insides clench with desire. One of his hands ran through the ends of her hair while the other strayed to her lower back, smoothing across the sliver of exposed skin between her jeans and sweatshirt. She gasped and his fingers froze, making no further movement as his entire body stiffened in her arms._

"_Elena," he choked out._

"_I know, I'm sorry," she mumbled, stepping out of his embrace and avoiding his gaze. _

"_So, um," he stammered, nervously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "How far along are you?"_

"_Up to thirty pages," she answered, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from reaching for him again._

"_Good," he replied, looking back up at her with a forced smile and guarded eyes. "You go on back up and I'll get started on dinner. Any special requests?"_

"_Lasagna..."_

"_You, my dear, are a bottomless pasta pit, I swear," he chuckled, and Elena was glad for a break in the awkward tension. "Shoo," he said, waving her back up the stairs. "I'll call when it's ready."_

_The next forty-eight hours were a sleep deprived blur. She'd write, and he'd cook or clean when he wasn't sleeping. Elena was fairly certain that the entire kitchen had been rearranged – twice – all the clocks in the house were functioning again and even the fireplaces had been rid of years of caked on ash and soot. When she'd finish a section, he'd edit and she'd sleep for a few hours until he'd wake her with a fresh cup of coffee. _

_On __Sunday evening, Elena sat in the middle of her bed, surveying the destruction they had wrought. Books and papers covered her bed and most of the floor, her desk boasted an impressive collection of coffee mugs and a tower of empty Red Bull cans, and the pile of laundry in the corner of her room was growing frightening large. Her gaze softened, however, when it fell on her window seat where Damon had taken up semi-permanent residency._

"_How much longer?" she asked, drumming her fingernails against the keys of her laptop._

"_Ten minutes less than the last time you asked," Damon grumbled, not bothering to look up, his eyes quickly skimming back and forth across the pages of her completed draft, his red pen hastily making marks as he read. _

_Watching him work was a distraction in and of itself. There were times this past weekend when he'd thought she'd been sleeping but in fact, she'd be observing him from her bed through half-closed eyelids. His tells were so obvious that she wondered how he'd ever win at poker. He'd crease his brow and like clockwork __the red pen would hit the paper a second later. A nod or a smile and the particular passage he was reading would escape unscathed. He'd absently tap the pen against his temptingly plump bottom lip when he was reading over a section he'd already edited. And every ten or so pages, he'd set down the pen and reach for his mug of coffee or bourbon, depending on the time of day, taking a large gulp before setting it back down on the bench beside him and picking up the pen again. _

_An hour later, Damon set the pen down a final time, getting up from the window seat and handing the marked draft back to her. "All done."_

_Scooting to the edge of the bed, Elena took the stack of papers from him. Flipping through the pages, her eyes widened at the amount of red. "You've been reading this the entire time. How is there still so much to edit?"_

"_Elena, calm down," he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and sitting down beside her. "It's mostly just clean up. Couple of hours of work, max."_

"_Mostly?" she squeaked, looking back through the pages. "There are substantive changes too? What if in making those I have to make others? What if I don't get it done in time? What if this piece of shit Dell laptop dies on me in the process?"_

"_Elena," he said her name sharply, causing her head to whip around and meet his eyes. "You're panicking."_

"_No shit, Sherlock," she snapped, immediately regretting it when she saw his face fall. "Shit, Damon, I'm sorry. I'm just tired. And I know this is only a draft, but Galligan is also the dean of admissions for the grad program, so it needs to impress if I want him to recommend me."_

"_Elena," Damon said her name again, this time taking her face in both of his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you trust me?"_

"_Yes," she answered, without a moment of hesitation._

"_Then believe me when I tell you that you've written a damn good thesis. And believe me when I say that you are a smart, beautiful, gifted young woman, and they'd be idiots to turn you down." He smiled softly, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "Now, you just have to suck it up for a couple more hours, make these changes and it will be perfect."_

"_Damon," she sighed wearily, eyes slipping shut to hide the tears of exhaustion that were welling up in her tired eyes. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't think-" _

_Whatever she was going to stay next vanished from her mind the instant his lips slammed against hers. All that existed, all that mattered, was Damon. His lips, moving insistently, ardently in time with hers. His hands, one sweeping up into her hair and the other sliding down her neck, teasingly skirting over her breast and wrapping around her back, pulling her closer. His fingers, seeking out that sliver of skin they'd grazed on Friday, but instead of freezing, splaying against her lower back, digging, clawing, and drifting higher as they sought more and more of her skin. His hair, as her fingers wove through his silky black locks. His taste, as her tongue swept __across his lips, discerning coffee and bourbon and then so much more when he opened his mouth to her, granting her entrance and sucking her tongue in deeper. His moan, and her gasp, as she shifted in his arms, her hardened nipples rubbing against his t-shirt clad chest through the thin material of her lace bra and tank top. All of those flashes of heat they had ignored into a simmer since he'd held her hand in front of the church a month ago were reignited, consuming her like wildfire. _

_So much so that she didn't hear the knock at the front door, didn't hear the key inserted into the lock or the creak of the hinges as it opened, didn't hear the click clack of stiletto heels as they climbed the stairs. _

_By the time Elena heard the rasp of manicured nails on her bedroom door and their unannounced visitor clear her throat, it was too late. _

_Startled, they broke apart, panting and looking at each other with passion-filled eyes for a moment, before Damon bolted off of the bed and toward the door. Elena watched as he came to a screeching halt upon seeing her mirror image standing there in the doorway. He looked back and forth between the two of them several times, blinking rapidly and shaking his head, before he stormed past the other woman and down the stairs, slamming the front door shut behind him. _

"_Hello, sister," Elena's curly-haired double smirked, her heavily lined eyes gleaming with mischief._

_Elena swallowed hard, panic rising again, fighting against the name of the last person on earth, besides Stefan, that she would have wanted to witness what had __just happened between her and Damon. And when she said her sister's name, it came out more like a curse than a greeting._

"_Katherine."_

* * *

_**So there you have it... Lots going on in this chapter! Would love to hear your thoughts, theories and other musings on all the latest developments. And as always, thanks for reading!**_


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